Memories of Angels
by AngelofMusic8578
Summary: Cowritten by Mayla. Margaret’s entire world was shattered when she lost her one true love in a deadly fire. When she arrives at the Opera Populaire four years later, will a masked stranger help her forget her pain? And why is he so familiar?
1. Broken

**Authoresses: We'd both like to thank you all for reading, and we hope that you all enjoy this story. Cheers!**

_**1. Broken**_

_He had told her to go out that night_… _To have dinner with her brother_… _She never would have left him if she had known what horrors lay in store for her that night_…

_As her brother's carriage pulled to a stop in front of her fiancé_'_s small home_, _returning from dinner_, _she was horrified to find it ablaze_. _Her blood ran cold when she heard the agonized screaming_… **_His_** _screaming_!

"_He_'_s still inside_!" _she cried_. _She bolted from the carriage and ran as fast as she could up the drive_, _tripping over her skirts_. _She felt strong arms grab her from behind_, _pulling her back_.

"_No_! _Stop_!" _her brother cried as he dragged her wailing form away from the burning house_. "_There_'_s nothing you can do_!"

"_I have to help him_!" _she sobbed_. "_He_'_s still alive_!" _She looked to the window and gasped_. _Her fiancé was throwing himself against the glass_, _a pitiful attempt to try and break it_.

_Before the flames finally overtook him_, _he looked out and met her gaze_. _His eyes were full of unbearable pain and sadness_. _His face_… _His handsome_, _gentle face_… _It was burned terribly_, _so that she barely recognized him_. _But she recognized his eyes_… _his beautiful_, _stormy grey eyes_…

_A single tear found its way down his marred cheek_. _The way he was looking at her_… _She realized he was saying good_-_bye_…

"_No_!" _she screamed_. _She tried once more to run to him_, _but her brother_'_s arms dragged her back from the burning cottage_. _The roaring flames_, _one last anguished scream from her lover as the roof caved_, _and the sound of her brother shouting her name all blended together to create the most agonizing music she had ever heard_…

XxXxX

"Margaret!"

Margaret opened her eyes. The concerned face of her sister-in-law appeared over her.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "You were screaming!"

Margaret rolled onto her side and hugged her pillow close. That terrible night was over, but she was doomed to relive it every night in her dreams.

"I'm sorry," Margaret whispered, tears choking her words. "I had a bad dream…"

"Margaret?"

Margaret looked to the doorway. Her brother was there, still in his nightshirt. Margaret flushed red. Her screams must have awakened the entire household!

"What happened?" he demanded. "Why were you screaming?"

Margaret shut her eyes. "I'm sorry, Raoul…"

Raoul sighed. "Christine? Could you please give us a moment?"

Christine nodded. "I'll be in the bedroom."

Christine left and Raoul just stood in the doorway, not saying anything for a moment.

"This is why you shouldn't come," he said flatly.

"It was a dream," Margaret whispered.

"I'm no simpleton!" Raoul snapped. "I know _exactly_ what these dreams are about! You've been thinking about _him_."

"I think about him every day…"

"It's not healthy!" Raoul retorted. "Look at you! You could have been married and had a family by now! But you refuse to let him go!"

"I love him!"

"You _loved_ him… And he loved you, too. He wouldn't want you to live like this. He would want you to be happy."

"I will never love again!" Margaret cried, burying her face into her pillows. "No one! That's what we always told each other… '_No one but you_…'"

Raoul sighed heavily. "I was reluctant about returning to the Opera Populaire to begin with… What, with that Phantom… The only reason I will return is because it has been a year and there have been no further reports of the Opera Ghost causing trouble… The theatre is doing fine now and, well… It's what Christine grew up with… But it wouldn't be good for you to be in that environment…"

"Why?" Margaret hissed. "Because he was a composer?"

"It will be too painful for you to be near all that…"

"It's what he loved!"

Raoul closed his eyes. "Think about this, Margaret… Is this how you want to live the rest of your life? In mourning?"

He left her alone, and Margaret curled up and sobbed.

"No one but you…" she choked. "No one but you… I'll never love again… No one but you…"

XxXxX

Raoul arrived in the kitchen the next morning to find Christine already sitting at the table sipping her tea. He slumped down into the chair across from her with a sigh.

"You didn't get back to sleep, did you?" Christine stated more than asked.

Raoul rubbed his temples. "It's a bad idea… She shouldn't go back with us. She should stay here."

"Staying here hasn't helped her heal," Christine pointed out.

Raoul couldn't argue. Margaret had been living in his estate for the past four years since the death of her fiancé in what the police said _could_ have been an intentional fire. Who could ever wish to kill a penniless composer was beyond him.

Raoul hadn't thought the musician was good enough for his sister. Imagine, a woman of Margaret's status cavorting about with an impoverished artist like _him_. But she loved him. He could see that plainly. And the man treated her well. Raoul knew that he could see his sister married off to any number of aristocrats who would slap her around and speak badly to her, only to sneak off in the night to his mistress. This man was not like that. He treated Margaret like a queen.

Moreover, he was a gentleman. Before proposing to Margaret, he had come to Raoul to ask for her hand!

Then there was that awful fire. Margaret hadn't been the same since that night. She would not be comforted. What bothered him most was that he hadn't seen her smile since.

"Perhaps a change of scenery would help," Christine continued. "Who knows? Maybe living at the theatre will help lift her spirits."

"I hope you're right, Christine," Raoul whispered. "I hate seeing her like this."

Christine opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment Margaret walked in. She said not a word as she sat at the table. Her face was pale and drawn and her eyes were bloodshot, indicating that she had been crying.

Christine shifted a little uncomfortably in her chair. She managed a weak smile. "Good morning, Margaret."

Margaret only nodded in response. She didn't say a word. Christine glanced at Raoul, then turned back to Margaret.

"Well," she tried to sound as cheerful as possible. "We leave for Paris tomorrow… Are you excited?"

Margaret nodded, but she certainly didn't look excited.

"I grew up in Paris," Christine continued. "Perhaps I could show you around the city?"

"Forgive me," Margaret stood up. "I'm not feeling my best this morning. I think I will skip breakfast."

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Raoul told her. "You should eat something."

Margaret shook her head. "I'm not hungry." Without another word, she left the kitchen and entered the den.

XxXxX

Margaret sat at the upright piano in the den. She ran her fingers lightly over the dusty ivory keys. No one in the entire household played the piano. It had always been merely a decoration.

Until _he_ came into her life…

Whenever he visited the de Chagny estate, he would sit here in this spot and entertain her for hours. He made the old instrument play the most beautiful music she had ever heard. Sometimes he would sing. He had the most beautiful voice she had ever heard.

It was that voice that first brought them together…

XxXxX

_Five years earlier_…

Margaret had been out riding and hadn't seen the storm coming. Darkness was all around, interrupted occasionally by a flash of lightning. Rain pounded down on her and the horse. Why did she have to ride so far from her brother's estate today? She hated storms…

Suddenly a rich, heavenly voice rose above the rain and thunder. So beautiful it was, it was like it was calling to her through the dark. It crescendoed, rising and falling with the storm. Who could possess such a lovely voice?

The storm was growing worse. Her only hope was to find shelter until the skies had cleared. Margaret urged her horse in the direction of the voice. A few moments later, a modest cottage came into view. Margaret leapt from her horse and ran up the walk and onto the porch. She pounded on the door. The singing ceased and a few seconds later, a man opened the door.

Margaret couldn't believe how incredibly handsome he was. He was tall and built, towering over her like some dark avenging angel. He wore a pair of black trousers and a white shirt of which the top few buttons were undone, exposing part of his broad chest. The wind blew into the house, playing with his hair, which was as black as pitch. He cocked his head, looking at her.

"Mademoiselle?"

His voice was gorgeous!

Margaret flushed, realizing that she had been staring. She must have appeared a sight.

"I-I… I was looking for shelter," she stammered. "M-my horse–"

"Say no more," the man said. He left the warmth and safety of his house and entered the storm, reaching out to take the reins of the horse.

"Oh!" Margaret followed him. "Let me help you, Monsieur! Moll doesn't take well to strangers!"

But the mare did not object when the strange man took hold of the reins. He stroked her muzzle softly and led her in the direction of a small stable. Margaret followed them. The stable was tiny and sad-looking, but it was warm and dry inside. A black gelding stood in a stall munching hay. He looked up with a lazy glance when his master entered with the brown mare. Then he returned to his meal.

The man began to remove the saddle from the wet animal. Margaret worked quickly alongside him. In no time they had removed her tack. Margaret brushed her down while the man forked some hay into the manger. Finally, he put a warm, dry blanket on her back.

At last, he turned to Margaret. "You probably should have gone inside where it's dry," he told her as he glanced out the doors into the storm-blackened night.

"I'm already wet," Margaret pointed out with a hint of amusement.

"Indeed," the man laughed. He offered her his hand. "On three, we run like the Devil's chasing us?"

Margaret took his hand, smiling. "Alright…"

"One…"

"Two…"

"Three!"

They plunged into the storm. Wind and rain beat at them from all directions, but strangely Margaret found herself unafraid. The man's reassuring grip made her feel safe. He had large, strong hands… Hands that were calloused… Hands that knew work… But they were also long and graceful, like a musician's hands…

At last, they burst through the door of his home. Margaret was almost disappointed when he let go of her hand.

"Well, that was refreshing," he said as he began to peel off his wet shirt.

"Uh…" Margaret cleared her throat.

He froze, and his cheeks grew red. He pulled his shirt back down.

"Sorry," he said, obviously embarrassed. "I'm, ah… not really used to having ladies in my home… or _anyone_, for that matter…"

He pushed a soggy lock of black hair out of his face, and Margaret found herself captivated by the beauty of his stormy grey eyes.

"You must get out of those wet clothes," he said. "You'll catch your death… I have a robe you can wear. You may change in my room."

He led Margaret to a small bedroom. It had a single cot and a dresser. Nothing more. He handed her a robe and she began to peel out of her wet things.

How fortunate she was that such a kind man had given her shelter!

When she entered his sitting room, he was seated with his back to her in front of an old-looking upright piano. He had also changed into dry clothes.

"Do you play?"

Her question startled him, for he jumped. Margaret had forgotten, he wasn't used to company.

"Ah, yes," he answered. "Since I was a child… I'm… ah… I'm a… a composer…"

"How interesting," Margaret said. "Was that your voice I heard when I arrived?"

He blushed again. "Yes… That was me… I was working out the tenor part for an opera I'm working on." He stood up. "I made tea. I thought you might like something to warm you up."

"Thank you," she whispered when he handed her a cup. He shifted on his feet uncomfortably for a moment.

"Forgive me," he said finally. "But I don't believe we have been properly introduced."

"Oh!" she set her cup down on a nearby coffee table. "I'm sorry… My name is Margaret de Chagny."

He took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

"Erik Destler," he whispered.

XxXxX

Erik had seen her back to her brother's estate when the storm had passed. And then he kept seeing her… He often invited her to his home for dinner. Sometimes they would go riding. But what she enjoyed most was when he would play his piano and enchant her with his angelic voice.

He hadn't been able to afford a fancy ring. But he had saved every sou he had for months to buy a small, but beautiful diamond. He had been so worried that she would reject his proposal. But she couldn't imagine ever being married to anyone else.

Margaret looked down at the ring he had given to her in love, which she wore on a chain around her neck. She never took it off.

"I miss you, Erik," she whispered as tears fell freely down her face. "I love you so much…"

"_Margaret_…"

Margaret froze. She could have sworn she heard someone whisper her name!

She grew stiff when she felt warmth encircle her, as though someone was wrapping their arms around her. She felt warm breath against her ear as a voice stated slowly and simply:

"_No one_…_ but_…_ you_…"

His voice!

"Erik!" she shrieked.

The presence retreated as quickly as it had come, leaving her cold and alone. Her eyes searched the room. No one was there.

"Margaret!"

Raoul burst into the room, obviously concerned when he heard his sister scream her lover's name.

"Margaret, what happened?" Christine followed her husband.

"He's alive, Raoul!"

Raoul's face became a look of surprise, then annoyance. "Don't be ridiculous, Margaret… You can't–"

"I felt his presence, Raoul!" Margaret insisted. "I heard his voice!"

"It was your imagination."

"I didn't imagine it! I'm certain! It was him! Or his spirit, or–" She stopped. She could tell by the look in her brother's eyes that he thought she was crazy.

"Don't you see?" Margaret asked. "He promised me that no matter how far apart we are his soul would always find mine! He's alive, Raoul! He has to be!"

Raoul took her arm and pulled her from the piano bench. "You had a hard night, last night," he said. "And you are obviously tired. You should get some rest."

"No!" Margaret tore her arm from his grasp. "I know what I heard! I'd know his voice anywhere!"

"Margaret, stop this!" Raoul shouted.

"It's _true_!"

"No, it's not! Erik is dead! He is gone and there's nothing that can be done about it!"

"Why won't you believe me?" Margaret cried as she ran to the doorway. She stopped and turned to face her brother. "_He_ would have believed me!"

With an angry cry, she ran from the den and up to her room, slamming the door as hard as she could.


	2. The Opera Populaire

_**2. The Opera Populaire**_

"We've arrived," Raoul said as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Opera Populaire.

Margaret looked out at the massive building. Giant stone pillars stretched up to the sky. The steps were made of marble. Margaret tipped her head back and looked up. Giant statues of angels and winged horses looked down at her.

"Ah, Vicomte!"

"Dear Vicomte!"

Margaret looked and saw two men approaching the stopped carriage. Raoul stepped out and shook their hands.

"A pleasure to see you again, Messieurs," Raoul said with a smile. He held his hand out to Christine and helped her out of the carriage. "You remember my wife?"

"The Vicomtesse!" one of the men said. "How lovely to see you again!" They each kissed her hand.

Raoul held his hand out to Margaret, giving her look that begged her to be pleasant, and helped her step off of the carriage. "May I introduce to you my sister, Margaret de Chagny… Margaret, this is Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin, the owners of the Opera Populaire."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle," the one called Andre kissed her hand.

"Indeed," Firmin bumped his partner aside and took Margaret's hand. "An immense pleasure!" He kissed her hand repeatedly.

"A pleasure, Messieurs," she said as she pried her hand out of Firmin's grip.

"I'm sure Margaret is anxious to see the interior of the opera house, Messieurs," Raoul said before any more words could be exchanged.

"Of course! Of course!" The two men led the way inside, chattering on about some of the new additions that had been made since the fire. Margaret once more looked up at the massive building.

This was the kind of theatre Erik had always dreamed of having his work performed in.

"_Oh_,_ Erik_…"

XxXxX

Margaret squeezed through the crowds trying to keep up with Christine and Raoul and the managers. Andre and Firmin continued rattling on about nothing.

Margaret was overwhelmed by the amount of activity that was going on in the backstage area of the theatre. Maids went back and forth with their mops, rags, and dusters. Labourers and stagehands were hauling pieces of sets around, passing a whisky bottle back and forth when they thought no one was looking. Actors were running around with their costumes, fussing with their hair and make-up. It was absolute chaos.

Margaret knew Erik would have loved it. He would have loved the atmosphere, the insanity and madness of it all. There was anticipation and excitement in the air. She could feel it. There was a certain… freedom in it all. This was the kind of environment that Erik would have thrived in. A constant rush of artistic inspiration, the kind that would make his heart beat faster and his blood flow harder and make him compose his music with an energy he didn't even know he possessed.

She wished he were here… with her… right _now_…

Margaret froze when she caught a glimpse of two grey-blue eyes staring right at her… glossy black hair…

"Erik?" Margaret turned to look at him, but a group of ballerinas fighting over a wine bottle blocked her view. She tried to look around them, but she couldn't. When the group had finally moved on, the face was gone…

XxXxX

"Margaret!" Christine grabbed Margaret's hand. "Come with me! There's someone I want you to meet!"

Raoul had gone off to talk business matters with Andre and Firmin, leaving Christine and Margaret to their own devices. They wandered around for a little while, finally coming to the main auditorium. There were ballerinas in rehearsal. A woman in a black dress with a cane was shouting instructions to them.

"Madame Giry!" Christine said with a squeal as she pulled Margaret to the front of the auditorium.

The woman in black turned to them. Her eyes lit up with surprise. "Christine? Is that you?" She turned to her ballerinas. "Break, everyone! Be ready to begin again in twenty minutes' time!"

The dancers collapsed to the floor simultaneously in exhaustion, grateful for the break. One blonde girl came down from the stage and embraced Christine.

"It's so good to see you!" she cried.

Christine hugged the blonde girl tightly. When she pulled back, she turned to look at Margaret. "Madame Giry? Meg? This is my new sister-in-law, Margaret… Margaret? This is my best friend, Meg Giry. And this is Madame Giry, the ballet mistress."

"Pleased to meet you," Margaret said quietly.

"So you're the Vicomte's sister?" Meg asked as she shook Margaret's hand enthusiastically. "It's so good to have you here!"

"Yes, indeed," Madame Giry said. "A friend of Christine's is a friend of ours."

"Oh, what a lovely ring!" Meg spotted the diamond on the chain around Margaret's neck. "Where did you get it?"

"The man I love gave it to me," Margaret replied.

Christine cleared her throat, looking uncomfortable. "Um… Margaret?"

"Oh, how romantic!" Meg exclaimed. "Tell me about him! Is he handsome? What's his name?"

"His name is Erik," Margaret said. "Yes, he's quite handsome… Tall, black hair, grey-blue eyes… He's a composer."

"Oh, a composer!" Meg cried. "Does he sing?"

"Oh, yes… he has the most beautiful voice…"

"May I meet him someday?"

"That would be quiet impossible…" Margaret cringed when she heard her brother's voice and saw him striding over to where they stood. There was a frown on his face.

Meg looked confused. "Impossible? Why?"

Raoul glared at Margaret. "My sister failed to mention that dear Erik Destler lost his life in a tragic accident some years ago… It was a hard loss…"

"Oh…" Meg bit her lip, looking quite uncomfortable. "I… I'm sorry… How tragic… That's terrible…" She looked at Margaret… Her eyes were downcast and her lips were set in a firm line. She didn't say a word.

"We're very sorry for your loss," Madame Giry told the girl.

Margaret still didn't speak.

"Uh, Meg?" Christine said. "Margaret hasn't seen all of the theatre yet… Will you help me show her around? That is, uh… If your mother doesn't mind?"

Madame Giry looked at her daughter. "You'll work doubly hard tomorrow to make up for the rehearsal you've missed."

"Yes, Maman," Meg said quietly. "Come on, Margaret… There's much to see."

Christine and Meg practically fled the auditorium, dragging Margaret along with them. When they were gone, Madame Giry turned to Raoul. "That was rather insensitive, Vicomte…"

"You don't know what I've been through with her," he muttered.

"But I have an idea of what _she_'_s_ been through! It's hard to lose someone you love… And I can see in Margaret's eyes that she loved this Erik Destler very much."

"You don't understand!" Raoul cried. "I have watched her pine for this man for the last four years! She has withered… She wasn't always like this! She used to be happy! I want her to be happy again, but she won't stop grieving for this man!"

"Maybe what she really needs is for you to stop expecting her to simply move on from this," Madame Giry said, "and show some support. If she wants to cry, you have to let her cry. If she needs someone to talk to, you need to listen to her and try to understand…"

"But Madame Giry," Raoul said softly. "Just the other day… She was convinced that Erik was still _alive_."

Madame Giry sighed. "Denial, I'm afraid… Although, you normally see these kinds of things in a recent loss… I can't say I've ever heard of someone going into denial years after the fact… What on earth made Margaret think Erik was still alive?"

"She claims to have heard his voice, or some such thing," Raoul replied. "I don't know… I thought time heals all wounds… Margaret just hasn't been healing…"

"She needs you to be there for her," Madame Giry placed a hand on Raoul's shoulder. "She needs love and support. In time… she _will_ heal…"

Raoul looked at her and offered a small smile. "Thank you, Madame Giry…"

XxXxX

"And these are where the girls' dormitories are located," Meg told Margaret as the three women made their way down an empty hall. "The ones near the front are the nicer ones… The private rooms for the divas and principal singers… The ones closer to the stables are for ballerinas and chorus girls…"

"It's very dark in here," Margaret whispered. She had never been fond of the dark, and even in the semi-light with the other two she was feeling a bit unnerved.

"It's great for telling ghost stories, though," Meg said. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth. "Er… I mean…" She looked apologetically at Christine.

"My brother has already told me about the Phantom," Margaret said wearily. "Such a terrible ordeal Christine had to go through… But he hasn't been seen or heard from for nearly a year now, has he?"

Meg nodded. "Thank goodness… He was dangerous…"

"Is it true that he was responsible for the fire that burned this opera down all those years ago?" Margaret asked.

Meg nodded again. "It was such a horrific night…"

Margaret hugged herself as she looked around nervously. "I do hope he is gone for good…"

"As does everyone else," Meg concurred. She took Margaret's arm. "Come… Let's not talk about such things anymore… Let's go see the stables…"

The three women continued down the hall, unaware of the black shadow perched in the rafters above, watching their every move through two cold, stormy eyes…

XxXxX

"Ah, Vicomte!" Andre smiled as Raoul entered the managers' office. "How may we help you?"

Raoul shut the door quietly behind him. "I am here about my sister," he said in a lowered voice.

"Miss Margaret?" Firmin said. "She's a lovely girl! Albeit, a little withdrawn… solitary… But lovely, nonetheless!"

"I need you to be careful about what you say and do around her," Raoul said seriously.

Andre and Firmin exchanged confused glances.

"Could you elaborate, please?" Andre asked.

Raoul sighed. "My sister suffered a loss some years ago… Her fiancé was killed in a house fire… My sister has not been able to move on from the tragedy. Moreover, the man was a composer… opera… I was reluctant to bring her here in the first place. As you can imagine, any number of things within this theatre could remind her of him." Raoul looked at the floor. "My sister is in a very fragile state of mind… I fear for her mental health… I'd like her to be able to heal in this place, but it will require a little bit of help from you…"

"Why, certainly Vicomte!" Firmin said. "We'd love to help in any way we can!"

Raoul smiled good. "For starters, I know that you two charming gentlemen are very skilled at wooing young ladies…"

The men exchanged uncomfortable glances, blushing a bit.

"Obviously," Raoul continued, "I must insist that you control yourselves around Margaret… Not only is she my sister, to whom I have a duty to protect, but such… _charismatic_ fellows as yourselves would only serve to remind her of her beloved…" Raoul looked critical. "I'd like her mind to be taken off of such thoughts…"

The managers nodded. "Of course, sir…"

"The second issue is about my pay," Raoul continued. "I'd like ten percent of my profits to be given to Margaret in a monthly allowance… My sister has been dependant for the last four years. I'd like her to have her own money, to spend on pretty things or whatever she fancies. She won't accept the money if _I_ give it to her… Too much pride, I'm afraid. But she may take the money if you tell her that, as sister of the patron, she is entitled to a certain sum of money each month."

"Certainly," Firmin answered. "It won't be a problem…"

"And finally…" Raoul said. "Above all, my sister needs a stress-free environment. So… if we can keep talk about You-Know-Who downstairs to an absolute minimal, I would be most grateful…"

The managers both gulped… No further explanation was needed on _that_…

Raoul smiled. "I thank you both for your cooperation… And I trust that our business together will be quite profitable for all involved, this time…" He opened the door to leave. Then he turned back to look at the two men. "Think of it… No more notes… no more ghost…"

XxXxX

The Phantom pounded furiously on his organ, his face twisted into a horrible scowl.

"_How dare they_?_ How dare they_?_ How DARE they_?"

It wasn't enough that Christine had broken his heart and left him alone to rot in Hell… She had to come back and let him see how happy she was? How glad she was that she was with her precious Vicomte, and that _he_ was entirely gone!

The angry music echoed through the lair as he pounded out his frustration and hatred.

Why couldn't they just let him die in _peace_?

The music came to a thundering finale, and he slammed the cover shut on the keyboard.

They'd brought along that girl, too… Funny, he'd never imagined that the Vicomte had a sister… He seemed so self-absorbed and spoiled, the Phantom had automatically assumed that he was an only child. No doubt the sister would prove to be just as spoiled, just as empty-headed, just as worthless as her Fop brother! But he had to admit, she _was_ beautiful.

And a little sad…

The Phantom wondered about that. How could a rich, beautiful, healthy young woman like that still be unhappy? What was it about the fortunate? They never seemed to realize the good things they had.

Strange… There was this part of him that felt drawn to the Vicomte's sister. As if he knew her. But he didn't. He'd never seen her before. He didn't know a thing about her!

Hell, he didn't even know his own name…

The last thing he remembered was pulling himself from the ashes of a ruined cottage. He wandered around in a daze for a little bit. He couldn't remember why he was there. Music echoed in his mind as he tried desperately to remember something… _anything_!

Did he have a family? Friends? Anyone? He couldn't be sure. He tried to remember his name, but could not. Music filled his brain. Unwritten symphonies and arias roared in his ears. He covered his ears with his hands, willing the music to stop and allow him some quiet so he could think.

He spotted a lake nearby and went to it. He was dirty and he longed to clean off the ashes and grime that covered his whole body.

He leaned over to splash cool water onto his face… and a horrible, ugly monster appeared below him! He jumped back with a shriek, tripping over a rock and landing flat on his back. He curled up into the foetal position. The monster would, no doubt, jump from the lake and attack him. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed he wouldn't feel any pain when the beast came for him.

But nothing happened… He opened one eye… then both… He looked back at the lake. There was nothing.

He slowly crawled back to the edge of the water. He looked out. He didn't seeing anything. Mustering up his courage, he leaned out a little further…

The monster was back!

He almost jumped up and fled, but something made him pause… The creature below him was mimicking his movements… It moved when he moved and was still when he was still… He took a breath and plunged his hand into the water…

There was nothing there… Just mud and weeds…

He pulled his hand from the chilly water. His action had caused ripples in the surface. When the water settled once more, the beast was still staring at him…

And then he realized that it was no sea monster he was looking at… It was himself… It was his _reflection_…

He sat, frozen in place, staring at his hideous visage. He couldn't tear his eyes away. How could this be? He was human… he felt human, anyway… But how could any human be so impossibly ugly? Anger, grief, and shame filled him up and he beat the water, willing the horrible reflection to go away.

He stood up and ran, trying to escape the reality. He must be alone, he decided. No one would want to be near anything as monstrous as him. Not even a mother could love _that_ face!

He ran until he was completely exhausted, finally collapsing beside an old, dirt road. He covered his face with his arms, silently pleading for death.

This was the state Madame Giry found him in when her wagon was passing by. She saw what appeared to be a man, curled up on the side of the road. Concerned that he might be hurt, she stopped. He tried to run from her, but he was already too exhausted. She drew back when she saw his face, but she knew that she couldn't just leave him. She took him to her home and nursed him back to health. She had wanted to alert the authorities when she learned that he had no recollection of who he was, but he refused. He was certain that no one could possibly want to find him… nor did he wish to be found.

Instead, he insisted that she help him enter the Opera Populaire, undetected. He had learned that she was a ballet mistress during his stay at her home. She told him all about the opera house, including the catacombs beneath it and the underground lake.

What better place to hide so that no one would find you?

And so, the Phantom of the Opera was born. And he ruled the theatre with an iron fist. But then he fell in love with Christine, and she broke his heart. He had lost all desire to have any contact with anyone ever again after that. Madame Giry came down to his lair once a week with fresh groceries… That was it. He went to the surface sometimes… to observe, not interact… He watched how the normal people went about their lives, completely unaware of how lucky they were to have such freedom… To be seen and heard without care… All he wanted was one day to be just like everyone else…

And then who should he see, but Christine! No longer Christine Daaé… No… _Vicomtesse_ de Chagny, now… Wed, happy, healthy… Him, completely forgotten!

"Perhaps I should remind the happy family of the repulsive monster they left to die in these caverns," he murmured. "After all… You should not wound what you cannot kill…"


	3. Close Encounters

_**3. Close Encounters**_

"Margaret! Look at this!" Christine held up an emerald green dress.

Meg took the garment from her friend and began nudging Margaret to one of the dressing rooms. "Try it on!"

Margaret was in no position to protest.

It had been a week since she had come to the Opera Populaire. She had everything she could ever want or need. All of her needs were taken care of. She had her own suite, right in the theatre. It was large and luxurious… even more so than the diva's private room! The managers had informed her that, as sister of the patron, she was entitled to a monthly allowance, payable on the first weekend of each month… Margaret didn't know why. It wasn't like she did anything around the opera house. But Raoul strongly suggested that she accept the money. It would be rude not to…

So, she had just seen her first monthly pay… Seventeen hundred francs. Christine and Meg insisted that she had to go out and start spending it right away. And so, that was how her morning was spent… Being dragged from shop to shop, looking at dresses and jewellery and other pretty things.

Margaret stepped out from the dressing room after putting on the dress that Christine had picked out.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" Christine exclaimed.

"It would be perfect for the winter masquerade!" Meg added. "You could go as a forest fairy princess! We could make little wings for you, and a pretty mask!"

"You'd be the queen of the ball!"

"But it's October," Margaret pointed out.

Christine pushed her back into the dressing room. "You can never plan too early for these things. Now, quickly! Get changed so we can pay for it!"

So it was settled. In a single morning, Meg and Christine had already convinced Margaret to spend nearly a third of her pay. Around noon, Margaret suggested that they return to the theatre, before she spent it all.

"Oh, one more shop!" Christine insisted. "Please? Then we'll go out for lunch… _Then_ we'll go back to the theatre!"

Margaret sighed. "Alright…"

"Oh, look!" Meg cried. "Swarovski! Let's go there!"

Meg and Christine ran over to the store. Margaret quickened her pace to keep up. She was exhausted from all of the shopping, the heavy bags weighed her down, and she just didn't have the energy to run.

As she walked, something caught her eye. She paused before a store window that was filled with violins, flutes, drums, and other musical things… It was a music shop. Margaret set her bags down and admired the violins, which came in every colour from deep brown to light tan. She didn't know what kind of wood was used for each.

Erik would have known…

Erik would have been able to tell her what type of wood was best. He would have been able to tell if the instruments were of good quality. If he were here, he would ask to see every violin in the shop and would play all of them until he found the one that was 'just right.' Erik had his own violin. It was one of the few things that had been recovered from his home. He had kept it in a metal strong box, along with an uncompleted opera. Margaret had kept both the violin and the unfinished score. Those, along with her ring, were among the few things she had left that were his.

She had become his muse for the opera that was never to be completed. He would not stop working on it, unless she was at his home. Quite often, as she was leaving his cottage, she could hear him pull out the opera and begin to work on it… he'd still be at his piano the next time she'd come.

And his violin… He could make it play anything! He would entertain her with any song he knew, from Irish dances to Swedish lullabies. The only thing he loved more than that violin was Margaret… he'd said so himself, often enough.

Margaret browsed the many items in the window. There was a small display of music boxes. Large music boxes with fairy figurines on them… Music boxes with dancers that twirled… Music boxes with clocks… Music boxes with butterflies and birds that flapped their wings…

Margaret's eyes widened.

Off to the side, there was a tiny pinewood music box with a rose ornament on it.

Erik had given her one just like it shortly after they were engaged…

XxXxX

"_Well_, _look who it is_," _Erik smiled as he opened the door to welcome Margaret into his home_. "_My beautiful bride_-_to_-_be_…"

"_Were you expecting someone else_?" _Margaret teased him as she stepped inside_.

"_Oh_, _no one nearly as lovely_," _Erik said with his trademark charming little half_-_smile_. _He had his hands behind his back_.

"_What are you hiding_?" _Margaret asked as she tried to look around him_.

_Erik turned his body_, _evading her curious eyes_. "_Patience_, _my dear_…"

"_What do you have_?" _Margaret asked_, _trying to look around him once more_.

_Erik turned himself again_. "_What_'_s wrong_, _love_? _Do you not like surprises_?"

"_What are you up to_?" _Margaret put her hands on her hips and looked at Erik as though he were a naughty child_.

"_I might tell you_," _Erik said with a mischievous grin_. "_If I get a kiss_…"

_Margaret smirked_, _crossing her arms_. "_You think you_'_re so charming_."

_Erik winked at her_. "_I **know** I am_."

_Margaret leaned forward and give him a quick kiss_. "_Happy_ _now_?"

"_Oh_, _come on_!" _Erik said in a whiny voice_. "_You can do better than that_!"

_Margaret leaned forward and kissed him again_, _a bit longer this time_. "_How was that_?"

_Erik thought it over_. "_I think you_'_ll have to do a bit better than that if you want me to show you your surprise_… _Then again_, _if that_'_s asking too much_, _I could always just put this away and we_'_ll continue our evening as though it never_–"

_Before Erik could finish_, _Margaret wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him full and hard on the mouth_. _She ran her tongue across his lips and he granted her entrance_. _Their tongues did a sinful dance in a kiss that seemed to last for hours_. _When she finally pulled back_, _Margaret was out of breath_.

"_You look like you need to sit down_," _Erik observed with amusement_.

"_I_'_m fine_, _really_," _Margaret said_. "_Just a bit winded_."

"_Well_, _fortunately for you_, _that kissed earned you your surprise_," _Erik said_. "_Forgive me_, _I didn_'_t have time to wrap it_."

_He took his hands from behind his back and presented her with her surprise_… _a small_, _pinewood music box_… _A tiny rose ornament was mounted on top_. _On the front was engraved the letters_ '_E & M_.'

"_Erik_," _Margaret breathed as she took the gift from him_. "_It_'_s_… _it_'_s beautiful_!"

"_I was hoping you_'_d like it_."

"_I love it_!"

_Erik sat her down on his couch and took his place beside her_.

"_I didn_'_t care much for the song that was in it_," _Erik admitted_. "_Chopin_… _It wasn_'_t your style_… _So I made a few adjustments_…"

_Margaret grinned_. _Erik was like a little boy_… _He was always taking things apart_, _changing them_, _and reassembling them_… _Often_, _the finished product turned out to be better than it had been originally_.

"_Pray tell_, _what did you do to it_?" _she asked with a smile_.

_Erik grinned_. "_Open it and find out_…"

_Margaret lifted the lid_… _and a hauntingly beautiful melody spilled out from the box_… _A song that conveyed love_, _passion_, _and devotion_…

"_Our song_…" _Margaret whispered_.

_Erik smiled_. "_You like it_?"

_Margaret looked up at him with a sparkle in her eyes_. "_Sing the words_,_ Erik_!_ Please_!"

"_As you wish_…"

_Erik hugged her close and his rich tenor filled the room_.

"**_Nighttime sharpens_, _heightens each sensation_…**"

XxXxX

Margaret touched the cool glass of the store window. Was possible that Erik had come _here_ to buy her music box? She hoped it was so. She hoped he had been standing where she stood now, counting his money and searching for the best gift that he could afford…

"Erik…" Margaret whispered. "You were the Music of my Life…"

"_Margaret_…"

Margaret froze. His voice!

She gasped when her reflection in the glass seemed to fade away… and it was Erik's face she saw looking back at her!

"Erik!"

"Margaret?"

Margaret looked down the street. Christine and Meg had returned. When she looked back at her reflection in the window, Erik was gone…

"We thought we'd lost you," Meg said as she came to stand beside Margaret.

"I… I'm sorry," Margaret whispered. "I just… I'm sorry…"

Christine bit her lip. "Maybe we _have_ been out too long. You look very tired." She stooped down to pick up some of Margaret's bags. "We should probably go back, now…"

Margaret glanced at the glass window once more. She sighed. "Yes… Let's go…"

XxXxX

"_Margaret_…"

"_Erik_!_ Where are you_?"

_Margaret looked around her_, _but everything was blackness_.

"_I_'_m here_, _Margaret_…"

_Margaret turned to his voice_. _He was standing mere inches from her_.

"_Erik_!" _she wept tears of joy as she threw her arms around his neck_. "_They told me you were dead_!"

_Erik did not return her embrace_…

_Margaret pulled back from him_. _He was cold_… _Why did he feel so cold_?

"_Why did you leave me_?" _he demanded_.

_Margaret opened her mouth_, _but no words would come out_. _He couldn_'_t possibly blame her_, _could he_?

"_Erik_, _I_… _I didn_'_t know_!"

"_You weren_'_t there for me the one time I needed you most_," _he said slowly and evenly as he began closing the already small distance between them_. _Margaret backed away_, _afraid_.

"_You saw me in that house_," _he growled_. _One side of his face began to bubble and blister_. _Margaret shut her eyes_.

"_Look at me when I_'_m talking to you_!" _he snapped_.

_Margaret opened her eyes and gasped_. _His right eyebrow was singed off_… _so was his beautiful black hair_… _His skin was red and raw with scar tissue_… _and growing uglier with each passing moment_.

"_You saw me trying to escape_, _but you did nothing to help me_…" _His stormy eyes were stone cold as he cornered her against an invisible wall_. _He grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her close_, _so that her face was less than an inch from his scarred one_…

"_You let me die_…"

"_No_, _Erik_! _Please_! _I love you_! _I tried_! _I wanted to_! _Please_, _don_'_t be angry with me_! _Please_! _Tell me that you still love me_! _Erik_? _Erik_!"

XxXxX

Margaret awoke sobbing, crying Erik's name.

She looked around herself. She was no longer in the infinite darkness that had been her nightmare… She was in her suite, on her bed.

"Erik…" she whimpered as she ran her fingers along the edges of the music box that sat on her night table. She lifted the lid and listened to their song…

"**_Nighttime sharpens_, _heightens each sensation_,**" she sang haltingly. "**_Magic stirs_, _and wakes imagination_…**"

She buried her face into her pillows as the music continued. She missed him so much. All she longed for was to be in his arms again…

She could stand it no longer. She shut the music box, got out of bed, and slipped into her robe. She needed to take a walk, to clear her mind.

XxXxX

Margaret wandered into the main auditorium. She walked around aimlessly, eventually finding herself in the doorway to Box Five. Not knowing what else to do, she went inside and sat down.

The seats were soft. Margaret laid down across them, getting comfortable on the velvet upholstery.

After a few moments, she found herself crying again. For some strange reason, she felt Erik's presence strongly here. It was silly, of course. Erik wouldn't have been able to afford the dirt on floor of this box, much less a seat. But she couldn't shake the feeling that he was there… watching her…

XxXxX

The Phantom often came to his old favourite box, Box Five, during the late hours when no one else was around. It was a nice place to go to think… to reflect…

But _this_ was certainly a first! Some strange woman was in his box! In his glory days as the Opera Ghost, he would have put his ventriloquist skills to good use and scared her out of the box… perhaps out of the theatre! But he didn't feel like it. Being a ghost wasn't as enjoyable as it used to be… All it did now was remind him that he was not made for human affection.

He thought about just leaving and going back to his lair… he could always come back another night… But for some reason he decided to stay… to see what this woman was up to… Undetected, he slipped into the box, close enough that he could see her face, but remaining in the shadows so that she would not see him.

Why, it was that annoying de Chagny girl! And she was weeping… Why was she weeping?

"Erik…" she choked out. "Erik!"

_Erik_… there was something about that name that rang a bell… that name meant something to him!

The woman continued to cry out to her Erik… The Phantom decided to stay close, and see what happened…

XxXxX

"_Go on_, _Margaret_," _Erik insisted as he nudged her towards the door_. "_You should have dinner with your brother tonight_. _I_'_m sure he misses you_."

"_But I see him everyday_!" _Margaret argued_.

"_Of course_," _Erik laughed_. "_For a few precious hours in the morning before you come over here to my cottage_, _and then a few fleeting moments in the evening after you_'_ve returned and before you go to bed_…"

"_Well_, _he_'_ll have to get used to it_," _Margaret said firmly_. "_Once_ _we_'_re married_, _I_'_ll be living with you permanently_."

"_All the more reason you should go out to dinner with him tonight_," _Erik asserted_. "_When you_'_re my wife_, _you_'_re going to be far too busy cooking my meals and cleaning my home to spend any time at all with your family_."

"_Oh_, _so that_'_s why you want me as your wife_," _Margaret said with a smirk_. "_You want a free housekeeper_!"

"_Oh_, _that_'_s not all_,"_ Erik said with a teasing grin_. "_You_'_ll keep my bed warm_, _too_!"

_Margaret shoved him playfully_. "_You make me sound like a little tart_…"

"_I like tarts_," _Erik grinned as he pulled her close to him_. "_What_'_s your flavour_?"

"_Erik_, _stop_!" _Margaret ducked out of his arms and put some distance between herself and him_. "_What would Raoul think if he walks in and hears you talking like that_?"

"_Lucky man_?"

_Margaret gave him a look_. "_My brother would beat you within an inch of your life if he heard you saying such things to me_!"

"_I imagine he_'_d love the opportunity to do so anyway_," _Erik answered_. "_Heaven knows he_'_s not crazy about this wedding to begin with_…"

"_Well_, _he gave his consent_, _and that_'_s all that matters_…" _Margaret smiled_. "_All **you** have to do is not push your luck_!"

_Erik had her in his arms again before she could react_. "_Well_, _that_'_s no fun_!" _He kissed her full on the lips_.

"_Erik_!" _Margaret protested when he finally released her mouth and began trailing wet kisses along the column of her throat_. _She pushed at him with her small hands_. "_All Raoul needs is one reason to forbid you from ever seeing me again_!"

_Erik pulled back to look into her eyes_. "_He couldn_'_t stop our love_, _even if he tried_…" _He placed his hand atop her heart_. "_I_'_m always with you_… _right here_…"

_Margaret laid her hand on his_. "_I know_…"

_There was a knock at the door_. "_Margaret_!"

_Margaret sighed at the sound of her brother_'_s voice_. _Erik pulled back from her and looked her in the eye_.

"_You_'_re going out to dinner with your brother tonight_, _and that_'_s final_," _he said firmly_. "_But_, _I_'_ll have a surprise for you when you get home_."

"_You know I don_'_t like waiting for surprises_," _she said grumpily_.

"_I know_," _he grinned_. "_That_'_s why I told you_… _That way you won_'_t dawdle coming back here after dinner_…" _He turned to face the door_. "_Come in_, _Vicomte_! _The door is unlocked_!"

_The door opened_, _and the richly dressed Vicomte stepped inside the modest cottage_.

"_Are you ready to go_, _Margaret_?" _Raoul asked_.

"_Yes_, _Raoul_," _Margaret answered_.

"_The carriage is waiting_, _then_…" _Raoul turned to Erik and nodded a curt greeting_. "_Monsieur Destler_…"

"_Vicomte_…" _Erik returned_.

"_I_'_ll be back this evening_," _Margaret promised Erik as she leaned up and kissed him_. _Erik placed a large hand on her cheek_. _His lips were so soft and warm_.

_He pulled back and smiled at her_. "_Have a good dinner_…" _His fingers lingered on her cheek for a moment longer_. _Then he let his hand drop_.

"_I love you_, _Erik_," _she said before she went out into the night_.

"_I love you too_, _Margaret_…"

_It was the last time they ever saw each other_…

XxXxX

"Erik…" she moaned, tears falling freely down her face, soaking the velvet seats. "Erik, I love you! I love you so much!"

The Phantom listened to the woman's cries in fascination. "_Her voice holds a pain that mirrors my own_!"

But how could that be? She was rich and beautiful. There was nothing she could possibly want that her money couldn't buy. And with a face like hers, it was doubtful that she would ever have to spend her years alone, like he did.

Who was this Erik? Why did he make her cry?

The woman's crying faded away to quiet whimpers, then silence. She had cried herself to sleep.

The Phantom stepped out of the shadows and crouched down beside the woman. He brushed a golden ringlet out of her face. Yes, she was very beautiful.

"Poor child," he murmured as he looked at her tear-stained face. He was rather astonished with himself. He was actually showing sympathy for another human being!

His fingers played with a blonde curl, absently. The Phantom was surprised at the familiarity of it.

"_Who are you_?" he silently asked the sleeping beauty.

The Phantom closed his eyes. _A small body pressed against his larger frame_… _soft lips upon his_… _running his fingers through her golden tresses_…

His eyes snapped open. He looked down at the girl who was still sleeping soundly. He removed his hand.

"Who are you, little one?" he whispered as he brushed a finger against her smooth cheek.

The woman began to whimper again. "Erik," she cried. "Erik!"

"Shh…" he whispered. "Don't cry…" He began humming an Irish lullaby. "**_Take time to thrive_,_ my rose of hope in the gardens of Dromore_…**"

The young woman seemed to respond to his voice. She began to calm down and her face relaxed.

"**_Take heed_,_ young eaglet_,_ that your wings are feathered_,_ fit to soar_…**"

Her tears stopped and, much to the Phantom's surprise, her lips twitched upwards in an almost-smile.

"**_A little rest_,_ and then the world is full of things to do_…_ Sing hush_-_a_-_bye_-_loo_,_ low_-_loo_,_ low_-_lan_…_ Sing hush_-_a_-_bye_-_loo_,_ low_-_loo_…**"

Then woman was still now. Her small body relaxed into the comfortable seats of Box Five. The Phantom stood up and looked down at her sleeping form.

"Rest now, small one," he whispered. "Have no fear… An angel is watching over you tonight…"

XxXxX

"Margaret? Margaret, wake up!"

Margaret rubbed her eyes and looked around herself. It took her a moment to remember where she was.

"Why are you asleep in Box Five?" Madame Giry asked as she helped the girl sit up.

"I couldn't sleep in my room," Margaret whispered. She shivered as she pulled her robe tight around herself. She dreamt that she heard Erik's voice singing her a lullaby. It had been so _real_.

"My dear, what's wrong?" she asked when Margaret started to cry.

"I thought he was here!" Margaret wailed. "He sang me to sleep, and I didn't have a nightmare! He was with me again!"

"Is this about…?" Madame Giry trailed off.

"It's Erik," Margaret whispered. "I'm sure he was here… I'm sure of it!"

Madame Giry looked uncomfortable. "Margaret…"

"Please, don't think I'm crazy!" Margaret pleaded. "Raoul already thinks I'm crazy! Please, I'm not making this up!"

"I don't think you're making it up," Madame Giry said gently. "I'm sure this all seems very real to you…"

Margaret looked at the floor. "You don't believe me…"

Madame Giry took her hand. "I know what you are feeling, Margaret… I lost my husband some years ago as well… When you love someone so strongly, so deeply, it's very difficult to accept that fact that they gone. You keep thinking you heard him say your name… you look in the mirror and see his face… you feel his presence even when there is no one else in the room… And sometimes you start thinking that he's still alive… that he's waiting for you somewhere…"

Margaret wiped her eyes. "How… how do you know all that?"

Madame Giry smiled gently. "I had the very same experiences following the death of my husband… For some time, I was certain that he was still alive. I couldn't believe that he was gone. But in time, and with the love and support of my family, I came to accept the reality. I had to… otherwise, I never would have healed."

"But I can't!" Margaret cried. "I love him. I miss him so much!"

"You will always miss him. The pain never really goes away completely, Margaret… I won't lie to you. But he will always be with you, as long as you remember the love you shared." Madame Giry placed a hand on her shoulder. "In a way, you'll never be apart… because he _still_ lives inside your heart…"

Margaret closed her eyes and said nothing for a while. When she opened them again, she looked at Madame Giry with peaceful eyes.

"Thank you, Madame… You've made everything so clear, now…"

"I'm glad of that," Madame Giry smiled as she stood up. "You'd best get back to your room and get changed."

"I will," Margaret said as the older woman exited the box. When she was alone, she shut her eyes and bowed her head.

"We'll be together soon, Erik," she whispered. "I promise… I'm coming soon…"


	4. Guardian Angel

**Authoresses: As two very patriotic Canadians, we request a moment of silence for the Edmonton Oilers after their valient game against the Hurricanes…**

**Yanks: Yeah, whatever…**

**_4. Guardian Angel_**

Margaret slipped into a lovely soft pink evening gown. She sat before her vanity and removed the pins from her hair. Her golden tresses fell in ringlets around her face. Erik had always loved it like that. Margaret picked up her brush and ran it through her hair. Everything had to be perfect for tonight.

She had decided that if Erik was really dead, then she no longer wished to live either. When Raoul told her the tale of the Opera Ghost he had mentioned a secluded underground lake, where no man in his right mind would ever dare go.

If no man ever went there, then there would be no one to stop her from her purpose. She would drown herself in that lake, and then she would be with Erik again…

As she brushed her hair she opened her music box, which she had taken from her night table and set on her vanity. Its lovely music filled the room and she found herself softly singing the words.

"_It won_'_t be much longer_, _Erik_… _I am coming_…"

XxXxX

Christine made her way to her sister-in-law's room. Margaret had avoided contact with anyone for the entire day. Christine was worried.

She lifted her hand to knock on Margaret's door when something made her freeze. Hauntingly beautiful music floated through the crack under the door, and Margaret's voice was softly singing along.

"**_Softly_, _deftly_, _music shall caress you_… _Hear it_, _feel it_, _secretly possess you_…**"

That song! Why was Margaret singing _that song_?

"**_Open up your mind_, _let your fantasies unwind_. _In this life that holds its sorrow and its strife_, _you have always been the Music of my Life_…**"

Strange… the lyrics were somewhat different…

Christine bit her lip. She wasn't sure what she should do. Should she storm in and confront Margaret about it? Should she run and tell Raoul? Should she walk away and pretend she heard nothing?

Christine swallowed a lump in her throat and rapped lightly on the door. "Margaret?"

The music stopped and there was a pause before Margaret opened the door.

"Why, Margaret!" Christine exclaimed when she saw the young woman's attire. "Why are you dressed so fancy?"

Margaret averted her eyes from Christine. "I'm… going to meet someone…"

"_Really_?" Christine could hardly believe it. Had Margaret met a man already? This was good! It meant that she was beginning to move on from Erik, didn't it?

"I'm very happy for you," Christine smiled. She pushed the song out of her mind. If Margaret was finally beginning to heal, what did some silly little song matter anyhow? Who knows where she heard it? What did it matter?

"Christine," Margaret looked up. "I want to thank you for always being so supportive of me…"

"It's nothing, Margaret… Really…"

"No, Christine," Margaret said firmly. "You have become my best friend. You have always been so kind. I'll never forget you for everything you've done…" She leaned forward and hugged Christine. "Thank you for everything…"

Christine hugged Margaret tightly and pulled back to look into her face. "I must let you get ready," she said with a smile. "I hope you have a wonderful evening."

"Yes," Margaret whispered. "Everything will be fine after tonight…"

XxXxX

Margaret looked out of place in the darkness and gloom of catacombs beneath the Opera Populaire. She stood at the shore of the underground lake, like a lost angel. The muddy water of the lake lapped up at her, wetting the hem of dress.

"God, forgive me," she whispered, "for what I am about to do… Erik… I love you so much, and I can't live without you! In my life, there has only been you… No one but you… I have always loved you… in life… now, in death…"

Margaret spread her arms wide. Whispering good-bye to the world, she leapt into the air and plunged into the icy water.

XxXxX

The Phantom was quite weary as he glided through the darkness of the underground caverns back to his lair. He had spent the better part of the day watching the theatre's rehearsals. With the return of Christine and Raoul to the opera house, he had decided to go back to his role as the Opera Ghost. It was not yet official, as he not yet begun leaving his infamous notes for the managers… but it wouldn't be long now.

The Phantom continued into the blackness of the caves, home for the forgotten ones. He came upon the lake and stopped dead in his tracks. Just a few yards ahead of him, the de Chagny girl stood on the shores of the lake.

She was dressed all in pink, clearly out of place in the dark of his domain. Her blonde curls were loose, falling halfway down her back and framing her lovely face. He found it rather attractive…

"_What the Devil is she doing_, _wandering into my realm_?" the Phantom wondered, rather annoyed. "_Does she have a death wish_?"

He watched as the young woman spread her arms wide and plunged into the waters of the lake.

"_Apparently she does_…"

The Phantom saw her blonde head sink down, bob back to the surface, and then submerge again. If someone didn't help her, she was going to drown.

It would have been easier to shrug and continue on home. It wasn't his problem, anyway. If she wanted to die, then fine! Let her die! Why should he care?

And yet, his legs would not obey his brain as they brought him close to the shore of the lake.

"_Why should I help her_?" his mind screamed at him. "_No one ever helped me_! _No one ever cared about me_! _Why should I care what happens to her_?"

Body seemed to detach itself from Mind as the Phantom, seemingly against his will, stripped off his cloak and jacket.

"_I really **am** insane_," he thought as he dove into the frigid water after the woman's fading form.

XxXxX

After the initial panic of her lungs finding themselves airless, Margaret felt an overwhelming peace settle over her body. Her limbs floated carelessly in the murky water as she sank away from the surface. Her dress was heavy, weighing her down. She couldn't escape now even she wanted to.

Margaret closed her eyes, finally at peace. Very soon, Erik's arms would welcome her into eternity with him… the pain and loneliness of the old life would be forgotten… Just him and her… She couldn't wait to feel his warm arms surround her and pull her against his strong chest…

Margaret's eyes snapped open when a pair of cold hands grabbed her from behind. She was pulled against a hard body, moving quickly through the freezing water.

Margaret panicked. She struggled in the unknown form's grip. But it would not release her. In desperation, she began kicking and throwing her tiny fists at the thing that had grabbed her. Her foot made contact with what she assumed was its stomach. It made a grunting noise that was almost inaudible in the freezing water and momentarily released its hold on her.

Margaret swam as well as she could in her dress, but she was already faint from lack of oxygen and the struggle had sapped her of all her strength. She felt herself grow limp as she lost consciousness.

XxXxX

The Phantom swore colourfully as he dragged the unconscious damsel in distress from the freezing cold of the lake. This was the thanks he got for sticking his neck out for someone for once? The woman had fought with every bit of strength she possessed in her small body. She had kicked him in the stomach, knocking the air out of him and very nearly getting him killed too! He should have just left her then, but he saw her unmoving form just feet below him. Without even thinking, he grabbed her and began kicking for the surface. She did not fight this time.

He laid her down on her back when he reached the shore. That's when he realized that there was a problem… The girl wasn't breathing…

For the third time that night, he should have just walked away. "_Oh_, _well_… _I did my best_… _Too bad_…"

And yet he couldn't do it!

"You had better appreciate this, woman," he muttered as he parted her lips with his hand. Leaning down, he covered her mouth with his and breathed life into her…

XxXxX

_In her dreams_, _he came to her_…

"_Erik_…"

_He pulled her close_. _She lifted her lips to him and they kissed_…

"_Margaret_… _I need you to live for me_…"

"_Erik_… _Don_'_t go_!"

XxXxX

The woman coughed up muddy water. The Phantom was relieved. It wasn't that he didn't like having his mouth pressed against the lovely woman's lips. _Au contraire_, it was a rather nice feeling. It was just… he found himself wanting it to be something more… But he would never allow himself to fall into the trap of _l_'_amour_ ever again. Such a thing held only one possible future for him – pain. To feel such overwhelming feelings for a woman who was a virtual stranger… was a little disturbing…

She coughed a bit more, clearing her lungs. She moaned a little and her head rolled to the side.

The Phantom shook her shoulder a bit. She didn't move. But the steady rise and fall of her chest told him that he had been successful… She lived…

So what?

The Phantom cursed again. Now that he had saved her, he couldn't just leave her. And yet, he couldn't bring her back to his lair. That was totally out of the question! It seemed that every time a woman was in his home, things went awry.

"Madame Giry will take care of you, you little troublemaker," he muttered as wrapped his discarded cloak around her tiny body. He picked her up and was surprised at how, even in her soaking dress, she was incredibly lightweight. Her wet head rested against his shoulder. It felt incredibly natural… and strangely familiar…

"Bloody aristocrats," he mumbled as he carried her from the darkness of his kingdom into the light of the world above.

XxXxX

"Madame Giry? Have you seen Margaret?"

Madame Giry turned to see Raoul approach her. He was clearly worried.

"Why, no," Madame Giry answered. "Not since this morning…"

"Did she say she was going anywhere?" Raoul asked. "Christine seems to think she is out with a man, but I find that news too good to be true."

"Out with a man?" Madame Giry repeated. "My, how quickly she recovers!"

Raoul raised a brow. "I beg your pardon?"

Madame Giry wrung her hands. "Vicomte… perhaps you should know this… I found Margaret asleep in Box Five this morning…"

"Box Five?" Raoul repeated. He hadn't forgotten the significance of that box. "What the Devil was she doing in there?"

"She said she couldn't sleep… And she claimed she heard Erik singing to her…"

"_Again_?" Raoul said, exasperatedly. "I'm beginning to wish she never met the man!"

"Vicomte, relax," Madame Giry said calmly. "I had a chat with her. I shared with her my own experience of loss. She seemed to understand."

Raoul looked suspicious. "What exactly did she say?"

Madame Giry shrugged. "She merely said that everything was clear to her now…"

If her words had been meant to pacify the Vicomte, they had exactly the opposite effect. Raoul's eyes grew wide. "Madame Giry, check every room! I'm going to have the guards look for her!"

"Vicomte!" Madame Giry cried. Raoul was already halfway down the hall. "What on earth has gotten you so distressed?"

"There is no time to talk!" Raoul said impatiently. "Just _look_!"

A very confused Madame Giry began searching the dormitories, looking for the lost woman.

XxXxX

An hour of searching, and Madame Giry could not find Margaret. Now she, too, was worried.

"_Where did she wander off to_?" she wondered as she unlocked the door to her private room and stepped inside.

What she saw made her freeze in her tracks…

"Monsieur!" Madame Giry cried when she saw a very wet Phantom seated on the floor of her room beside her bed. "What are you doing here?"

"Ask _her_," was his cold response as he nodded his head towards the bed. Madame Giry gasped.

"Margaret!" Quickly shutting the door so that no one would see them, Madame Giry rushed over to the bed. Margaret was soaked, and wrapped up tightly in the Phantom's long, black cloak. Madame Giry looked back and forth between the two. "What happened?"

The Phantom got to his feet. "Either Mademoiselle de Chagny decided that it was a pleasant day for a swim, or she was attempting to drown herself in the underground lake…"

"Dear God," Madame Giry whispered as she made the sign of the cross.

The Phantom scoffed. "Troublesome girl… I nearly drowned myself trying to save her pathetic life!"

Madame Giry turned to him. "Monsieur, just stop… You don't know what she's been through…"

"Oh, of course," he said sarcastically. "I'm sure she's had a dreadfully terrible life… Plenty of money and a face that could charm any man… What an awful existence, indeed!"

Madame Giry struck him across the shins with her cane. He swore loudly.

"God in Heaven, Madame! What the Hell–?"

"First of all," Madame Giry cut him off, "you would do well to keep your voice down and refrain from using that kind of language in front of me! Secondly, you don't have the slightest inkling of the pain this young woman has experienced!" She paused. "Or… perhaps you do…"

The Phantom rubbed his sore leg. "Please, Madame… Stop talking in riddles… And who in God's name is Erik?"

Madame Giry looked surprised. "You know about Erik?"

"Very little," the Phantom muttered. "I saw her in Box Five last night and I heard her saying his name repeatedly… Does this Erik have something to do with her desire to commit suicide?"

Madame Giry sighed. "Yes… I'm afraid he does… Had I only known…"

"Well, don't keep me in suspense, Madame!" he said impatiently. "Who is he?"

Madame Giry looked uncomfortable… unsure if she should tell him… She finally decided that he probably wouldn't leave the girl be until his curiosity was satisfied. "He was her lover… her fiancé… He was killed four years ago in an accident…"

The Phantom's cold front softened somewhat as he looked down at the woman who's life he had just saved. "And she hasn't moved on from the tragedy?"

Madame Giry shook her head. "No… She has been unable to accept his death. Why, just this morning she was convinced that he was still alive! I tried to talk a little sense into her. I thought I had helped, but…" She sighed as she looked down at the beautiful young girl on the bed. "It seems all I did was deepen her depression…"

The Phantom looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "What will happen to her now?" he asked finally.

"I'll have to tell her brother. I have no choice. I'll tell him that a caretaker found her in the cellars and brought her to me. It will be his decision on what will happen to her."

"What do you think he'll do?"

Madame Giry looked uncertain. "He may continue to allow her to live here at the theatre… Under constant supervision, of course… But likely he'll have her returned to his estate beyond the city limits, where his servants can keep an eye on her… He may even decide to have her institutionalized."

The Phantom shook his head adamantly. "She's not going anywhere."

Madame Giry looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"I know her pain! I know loss! She doesn't need to be handed over to the care of those who don't give a damn about her feelings… That's the last thing she needs! She will stay here!"

"Why do you care so much about what happens to her? You don't even know her!"

The Phantom was silent. He didn't understand why he cared… But he knew that he did. Her fate was important to him, for some obscure reason. He needed to know that she was going to be alright.

"She will remain here," he repeated. "She's not going anywhere else. You and her family will watch her, and make sure she doesn't try to hurt herself again… And I, too, will keep an eye on her…"

"And you're going to inform her brother of this?"

"No," the Phantom said with a slight smirk. "_You_ are."

"_Me_?" Madame Giry cried. "How can you expect _me_ to sway the Vicomte's decision? This is his sister!"

"He listens to you," the Phantom said. "He respects you as a knowledgeable woman, wise beyond your years… Have him know that, as a woman, you know what is best for the girl. He, being a man, does not understand the female soul… Convince him that she must stay here… That relocating will only deepen her depression…"

"You want me to lie," Madame Giry said bluntly.

"Don't think of it as a lie," the Phantom said. "Think of it as an innocent little _untruth_."

"That's the same thing!"

"For God's sake, do it for the girl!" he snapped. "Do you really want to see her placed in some mental hospital?"

Madame Giry opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a soft moan from the figure on the bed.

"Erik?"

XxXxX

Margaret's head was pounding. She instantly knew she wasn't in Heaven… But this didn't exactly seem like Hell, either…

Which could mean only one thing… Her plan had failed…

When she opened her eyes, she wasn't going to see Erik… She wasn't quite certain what she was going to see… But she was certain that it wasn't going to be Erik…

"_When will it all stop_?" she wondered. "_How long must I wait before I can be with him again_?"

Margaret opened her eyes. The bright lights of the room blinded her. She heard two voices, both sounding foggy and far away. Two forms stood near her. The closer one was tall and black, like a living shadow. Margaret struggled to focus on it.

The form of a man took shape, appearing to be in deep conversation with the other figure in the room. He had black hair… A tall, well-built frame… He was becoming clearer and clearer… He was turned from her, so that all she could see of him was the left side of his face… At last, he came into focus…

Margaret blinked once…

Twice…

Could it be true?

She moaned softly as she opened her mouth to say his name.

"Erik?"

But the fog began to settle on her brain once again. Everything became black as she fell back into the darkness and passed out.

XxXxX

"She's fainted again!" Madame Giry cried as she gently shook Margaret, trying to wake her.

"I seem to have that affect on women," the Phantom commented. "Don't bother trying to rouse her… She shouldn't see me…"

Madame Giry straightened. "Strange… I could have sworn she was looking at you when she said Erik's name…"

"She is obviously very ill," the Phantom said as he headed for the door. "That water was rather chilly… Make sure she doesn't catch her death."

"Wait," Madame Giry said as she pulled his cloak off of Margaret's still form. "You almost forgot this. Neither the Vicomte nor Christine would be pleased if they saw this near her."

"I don't care what they think!" the Phantom snapped as he snatched the garment from her. "Now remember what I told you, Madame… Don't let them send her away. Do whatever it takes to ensure that she remains here."

Madame Giry could not answer him, for he was out the door and gone the very next moment.

XxXxX

"Margaret?"

Margaret opened her eyes. She found herself lying on a soft, warm bed. Blankets were pulled up to her chin. She looked up and saw Christine and Madame Giry standing near her.

"Margaret, why?" Christine asked. "Why did you do it?"

"Wh-where am I?" Margaret whispered.

"Hush child, you're in my room," Madame Giry said. "Your brother should be here any moment."

"Margaret!"

The door flew open at that moment and a very angry Vicomte stormed into the room.

"What were you _thinking_?" he hissed. "_Were_ you thinking?"

Margaret shut her eyes. "I'm sorry, Raoul…"

"Sorry isn't good enough!" he shouted. "Do you know what it would have done to me if something had happened to you? Don't you care about anyone but yourself?"

"Vicomte, please–" Madame Giry tried to calm him.

"No!" he cut her off. "I've had enough of this! This 'poor, grieving woman' game has gone on long enough!"

"Shut up!" Margaret screamed as she covered ears. "Just shut up!"

"I gave you a chance, Margaret!" Raoul shouted. "And you threw it away! Well, if that's how you feel, then fine! You can go back to the estate and the maids can deal with your moods! I don't care anymore!"

"Vicomte, wait!" Madame Giry grabbed his shoulder as he turned to storm out of the room.

He whirled on her. "_What_?" he hissed.

Madame Giry tried not to wither under his glare. "I… don't think that's such a good idea…"

"Are you trying to tell me what is best for _my_ sister?" he growled.

"Vicomte, you're being rash… You are understandably upset. Don't make hasty decisions like this. Think about Margaret."

"I am!" he snapped. "Bringing her here was a mistake!"

"No, wait!" Madame Giry caught him before he could leave again. "It wasn't a mistake… She must remain here!"

"In case you didn't notice, Madame, my sister just attempted to commit suicide!"

"Listen to me, Vicomte… You don't understand how the female mind works… Her attempt at suicide was merely a cry for help. What she needs is to be with her family… you and Christine."

"And if she tries this again?" Raoul asked, looking unconvinced.

"She must be under constant supervision, then… Margaret needs to be with the people who love her… People who really care about her… Don't cast her away now."

Raoul's face softened considerably. "I love my sister very much… When our parents died, I made it my soul responsibility to take care of her… I'd die if anything happened to her…"

"Then allow her to remain here, where you can help her…"

Raoul sighed. "Very well… She may stay… But she is not to be alone at any time… Perhaps your daughter wouldn't mind moving into Margaret's suite? That way someone will be with her during the night… and I'll have to post a watch at the door…"

"I'll keep an eye on her as well," Madame Giry said. "We all will."

"Very well," Raoul said resignedly. He glanced over at his sister. "Take care of her…" Without another word he turned and left the room.

"Madame?" Margaret whispered from her spot on the bed. "What's going to happen to me?"

Madame Giry moved over to the girl's side. "You will stay here… But your brother has made it clear that you are not to be left alone at any time…"

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I promise I won't do it again…"

"I know you're sorry," Madame Giry said. "It's alright. You know your brother loves you. He was just upset and said some things he didn't mean."

Margaret was quiet for a moment. "Madame… Who was that man you were talking to earlier?"

Madame Giry's heart skipped a beat. "I'm… sorry?"

"I… I'm certain I woke up earlier… I thought I saw you… with another man…"

Madame Giry looked uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Margaret… You must have been dreaming… You never woke up… There was no man in here…"

"Who brought me here?"

"A caretaker."

"A caretaker?" Margaret repeated. "I was told that no one goes down there!"

Madame Giry bit her lip. "There are boiler rooms in the fifth cellar… He was just going to make sure that everything was running smoothly."

"What is his name?"

Madame Giry's mouth went dry. "Er, pardon?"

"His name. What is his name? I… I should thank him… It would be the proper thing to do…"

"I… I'm sorry, Margaret… I'd never seen the man before… He's probably new to the theatre… Unfortunately, he was in and out very quickly… I didn't catch his name…"

"Oh…" Margaret didn't say anything for a long time. "Madame? Do you think Raoul will remain terribly angry with me?"

Madame Giry smiled kindly. "Rest, Margaret… You've had a trying day…"

Margaret sighed as she rolled over onto her side, hugging the blankets close. "I'll try…"

XxXxX

_One week later_…

The Phantom kept his eyes on the blonde beauty sitting in the auditorium below him. His seat in the shadows of Box Five gave him an excellent vantage point. As promised, Margaret had not been left unattended for even a moment since the day he saved her life. Right now, she and Christine were watching the ballet rehearsals. Christine was chattering on, obviously trying to make the girl smile.

The Phantom realized he had never seen her smile… He wondered what it would look like… Surely such a lovely young woman would also have a lovely smile…

He instantly shook the thoughts from his head and concentrated on Christine… _His_ Christine… The only woman who would ever have his heart… The woman whose very voice could undo him… He loved everything about her… Her chocolate curls… Her ivory skin…

It infuriated him to imagine the Vicomte's hands upon her lovely skin. He had possessed her, heart and soul. He made her a success, and then the Vicomte swooped down and reaped the benefits of his years of hard work. He hated him. He hated everything about him! His handsome face, his charming smile, his riches, his title… He _hated_ him!

Fortunately, Margaret was not at all like her brother…

The Phantom sighed as he slouched in his chair. Why did thoughts of Christine always lead to thoughts of Margaret?

"Excuse me?" a voice down on the stage called. "Excuse me, please? May I have your attention? Please, may I have your attention? Thank you…"

The Phantom leaned out a bit so he could see better, but was careful to remain in the shadows. Andre and Firmin were standing on the stage, where the entire company was assembled. A well-dressed man stood with them.

"As you know," Firmin began, "we have recently been preparing to present a brand-new opera to the people of Paris. It is our exceptional honour to welcome the composer of _Feu_ _du_ _Conquérant_, whose genius has given us this great opportunity. May we introduce Monsieur Dominique LaForte!"

The Phantom cocked his head as he looked at the man. He had short brown hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. A few ballet rats were giggling and looking at him. LaForte glanced at them and gave them a smile… Quite charming… Quite smooth…

"_Why can_'_t they introduce an old_, _unattractive_, _unexciting man for once_?" the Phantom wondered. "_Why do they always have to show up looking like_… **_that_**?"

Christine went up to the stage to introduce herself to the composer.

The Phantom crossed his arms. "_Genius_? _Ha_! _I_'_ve listened to that opera a thousand time already_. _His work is good_, _it_'_s true_… _But his skills could never hope to match mine_… _And to think_, _I had to **threaten** the managers to have them play **my** work_… _Only goes to show that you can get anywhere in this world with a charming smile_…"

"It is an honour to have my work presented by such a prestigious theatre as the Opera Populaire," LaForte said.

The Phantom froze. That voice… There was something about that voice… It was almost… _familiar_…

"I look forward to seeing the opening night," LaForte continued. "I'm sure it will be a great conquest for us all."

The Phantom rolled his eyes… Pretty face… pretty words… and everybody ate it up!

He was about to turn his back on the pathetic scene when something caught his eye. Margaret had not moved from her seat as LaForte was introduced… but that did not stop him from noticing her anyhow. He was looking at her with that sort of appreciative gaze… the one the Vicomte gave Christine when he visited her in her dressing room after her debut as Elissa…

The Phantom felt pain in his palm. Looking down, he realized that he had been clenching his fist so tightly that his fingernails had left bloody half-moons in his flesh. He returned his eyes to the man on the stage. His teeth began to grind when he realized that LaForte was _still_ staring at Margaret.

"_Don_'_t even think about it_, _Monsieur_…" the Phantom thought at him. "_Whoever you are_… _Don_'_t even think about it_…"


	5. In Dreams She Came

**_5. In Dreams She Came_**

"You're looking quite lovely tonight," Meg commented to Margaret as she fixed the girl's hair. "Monsieur LaForte will be swept off his feet!"

Margaret sighed. "I have no interest in sweeping _anyone_ off their feet…"

"That's too bad," Meg said wistfully. "He seemed quite smitten with you."

"Whatever gave you _that_ impression?"

"You should have seen the way he was looking at you!"

Margaret stared at the floor. "Why would he care to look at _me_?"

Meg put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "You really have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?"

XxXxX

_Erik lifted her chin with his fingertips_.

"_You really have no idea how beautiful you are_,_ do you_?"

XxXxX

"I'm not beautiful," Margaret whispered.

Meg squeezed her shoulder. "Yes, you _are_… Just look…"

Margaret looked into the mirror that she was seated in front of. She had to admit, Meg had done a splendid job with her hair. The sapphire blue dress she was wearing was quite becoming. Perfect to attend dinner with one of the most successful composers in Paris.

Dominique LaForte had started visiting the opera house more and more frequently. Margaret had to admit, she had seen the man glancing at her. But she hadn't thought anything of it.

Then Monsieur LaForte invited Raoul and Christine to dine with him, and insisted that Margaret come along as well.

"My, this is lovely!" Meg broke into her thoughts.

Margaret followed Meg's gaze to the small music box that sat on her vanity. She hadn't moved it since the night she attempted suicide.

Meg lifted the lid and Erik's beautiful music tinkled out.

"How lovely!" Meg exclaimed. "Wherever did you get this?"

Margaret shut the lid. "Erik gave it to me…"

"Oh…" Meg bit her lip. "Did he… write that song?"

Margaret nodded. "Yes… He composed that song and sang it to me the night we were engaged… Ever since, we called it _our song_…"

"That's so romantic," Meg breathed. She paused. "Margaret?"

"Yes?"

Meg opened her mouth… then closed it. "Nothing… never mind…"

XxXxX

The Phantom perched behind one of the golden nude statues in the main lobby of the theatre. While he had been about the opera house spying on people, he overheard LaForte talking to the Vicomte.

"It would be a lovely way for me to get to know you and your family better," LaForte said.

"Christine and I would be honoured," the Vicomte replied. "But I think it would be better if Margaret remained here with her friends."

"Well, we can't have the Mademoiselle feeling left out, can we?"

"It's not that, Monsieur… I'm afraid spending time with you might upset Margaret."

"Why on earth would going to dinner with her brother, his wife, and a humble musician upset her?"

"It's not you at all, Monsieur… Margaret suffered a loss some years ago… Her betrothed was killed in a house fire… He, too, was a composer… I fear that you may just remind her _too_ much of him…"

LaForte was silent for a very long time. "That's tragic… But believe me, Vicomte, I have only the most honourable attitude towards your sister… Who knows? Perhaps after spending some time with me, she won't be dwelling on her lover so much…"

"I'm not sure…"

"Please, sir! It might be good for her! And if, after tonight, she absolutely despises me, I'll make myself scarce. She won't even know I'm around!"

The Vicomte paused, as though he were considering LaForte's petition.

"Very well… She'll be in attendance…"

The Phantom was furious… Furious with LaForte for even daring to think that he was good enough for a woman of Margaret's status… Furious was the Vicomte for giving into him so easily… After all, he was Margaret's brother and it was his duty to protect his sister!

And part of him was furious with himself… for he didn't understand why he cared so much…

"_We_'_ll just see how well Mademoiselle de Chagny takes to Monsieur LaForte_…_ If he even thinks about making advances on the girl_,_ I_'_ll make him suffer_…"

XxXxX

"Bloody thing," Raoul muttered as he struggled to tie his cravat. "It's the most useless part of the male wardrobe!"

Christine smiled as she went over to help him. "That's what you need a woman for."

Raoul was quiet as he watched his wife tie his cravat. "Christine?"

"Hmm?"

"Monsieur LaForte… Do you think he fancies Margaret?"

Christine paused. "Well… I _have_ noticed him watching her…"

Raoul sighed. "I don't know what to do… He seems a gentleman, but I don't know how Margaret would react if ever tried to woo her…"

"Because he's a composer?"

Raoul closed his eyes. "He's too much like Destler… He even _acts_ like him…" Raoul opened his eyes and looked at Christine. "You know, Destler asked me if he could take Margaret to dinner as well… That was the beginning of it. Then he kept seeing her… Do you suppose history is repeating itself?"

"I don't know," Christine admitted. "I just hope Margaret is ready if Monsieur LaForte _does_ wish to court her…"

Raoul sighed. "Why does this have to be so complicated? Why can't it be simple? Like when Destler first showed up?"

XxXxX

_Five years earlier_…

"Monsieur le Vicomte?" one of the butlers entered Raoul's study.

"Yes?" Raoul answered, setting down his book.

"There is a gentleman in the foyer… he wishes to speak to you…"

Raoul stood up. "Perhaps it's that architect… I've been waiting on the plans for the new wing…"

But when Raoul entered the foyer, it was not his architect that was waiting for him… Rather, it was a poor-looking man, with scuffed shoes and plain clothes… He looked quite out of place in the large foyer of the luxurious mansion… and he seemed to know this…

"Monsieur?" Raoul said warily as he approached.

The man straightened immediately. Raoul took note of his size. He was very tall… long-legged… and well-built. He was a man who knew work… that much was clear…

"_Perhaps he is one of the architect_'_s labourers_," Raoul thought.

"Vicomte de Chagny?" he began. It was obvious that he was nervous. "My name is Erik Destler…"

"Destler," Raoul repeated, trying to remember the name. He had heard it before. "Destler… Destler… Destler… Ah, yes! Of course! You are the man who brought my sister home after that storm last night. The, uh… composer? Right. I must thank you very much for your deed. Margaret tends to panic in storms." He reached into his pocket. "Here… Let me give you a small token of my appreciation…"

"Please, sir," Erik spoke, "I didn't come here for money…"

Raoul was surprised. This man, obviously in need of some funds, was turning down a _Vicomte_'_s_ reward? Now, _this_ was interesting…

"With your permission, sir," he began. "I was hoping I might speak to Margaret. I… I was wondering if… would she…? Could she…?"

"Well, don't stand there and stammer!" Raoul laughed good-naturedly. "What is it that you want with my sister?"

"I… I was hoping that… you would permit me to… take her to dinner… tonight…"

Raoul looked the man up and down. Could Margaret truly wish to spend her time on this penniless artist? He was grateful for his help… But just how far did this man want to push his luck?

"You have my permission… _if_ it is what Margaret wishes…"

Erik nodded. "Thank you, Vicomte…"

Raoul called one of the maids. "Bring my sister here, immediately."

"Yes, sir," the maid curtsied and hurried off.

"Monsieur, may I ask you why you wish to have my sister over? Surely there are other lovely women of your… own class… that would greatly enjoy your company…"

Erik looked uncomfortable. "If I may be truthful with you, sir… I am something of a recluse… I have never wanted anyone in my life before… All I ever needed or wanted was my music…"

"But…?"

"But… last night, when your sister was in my home… she was very kind… I enjoyed spending time with her… And she seemed to enjoy my company as well… For the first time in years, I have been lonely… I know that I am a poor man and that I cannot even hope for your sister to have any kind of interest in me at all… But if she consents, I would like to spend the evening with her… Perhaps learn more about her…"

"Monsieur Erik!"

Both Erik and Raoul turned to see Margaret approaching, smiling widely. Raoul glanced at Erik. Then man's spirits seemed to visibly lift when he saw Margaret.

"Mademoiselle," he took her hand and kissed it. "It's very good to see you again…"

"Monsieur Destler would like your company for dinner, Margaret," Raoul told her. "I told him it is fine, if it's what you desire…"

Raoul fully expected Margaret to pale, mutter some excuse, and flee as fast as she could. But exactly the opposite occurred. Margaret's smile grew wider. "Oh, I'd love to!"

Raoul stood frozen in shock as Margaret bid him farewell and rushed out the door with Erik. He was still standing there five minutes after they'd gone.

"What just happened?" he asked out loud.

"It's love!" one of the older, battier maids called to him. "The air is filled with love!"

Raoul turned and shot her look. "Oh, please… He's never going to amount to anything!"

XxXxX

The Phantom shook himself awake. He had been hiding behind the statue in the lobby for nearly an hour. It was late… He was tired… And his muscles were sore and cramped from balancing on his perch for so long. If he had to wait much longer, he would likely fall asleep and tumble from his hiding spot. And that would be just _too_ degrading for him…

"Ah, Vicomte!" the Phantom heard LaForte's familiar voice. "So good to see you… Vicomtesse, you're looking lovely this evening…"

The Phantom peeked out from behind his hiding spot to watch the scene below him. The four figures in the lobby were all dressed to their best. Margaret, in particular, was looking quite lovely. The Phantom scorned himself when he realized that he was staring at her…

LaForte approached Margaret with the biggest of grins plastered on his face. "Mademoiselle… You look beautiful…" He took her hand in his and kissed each of her small knuckles.

The Phantom fumed. "_If he kisses her one more time_,_ I_'_m going to cut his lips off_!"

He gave himself a mental slap. He was acting like a jealous lover! That was one thing he was not, as far as Margaret was concerned. No, he was _not_ jealous!

"My carriage is waiting," LaForte informed them. "Come, let us go now…"

LaForte offered his arm to Margaret, who hesitantly took it. The Phantom tasted bile in his mouth.

"_Dammit_…_ I_'_m jealous_…"

In a few moments, the group was gone and the Phantom was alone. With a resigned sigh, he leapt from his perch and began his trek back to his lair underground…

XxXxX

The Phantom leaned back in his chair and admired his work… He'd just drawn yet another lovely picture of Margaret… He studied the face that stared back at him from the parchment intently…

"_Didn_'_t quite capture the beauty of her eyes in this one_…" he mused.

The Phantom set the picture aside and rested his head on his desk, using his arms as a pillow. Dammit, what was it about that girl?

"_I just need some rest_," he decided. "_I_'_ve been under a lot of stress_…"

He closed his eyes. It wasn't long before sleep overtook him.

XxXxX

_His face hurt_…_ badly_…_ He had been burned_…_ He didn_'_t much care to see what kind of damage had been done_…

_Flames were everywhere_…_ He needed to find an escape from_…_ the cottage_?_ Yes_,_ it was a cottage_…_ And it was on fire_…

_The window_!_ He could break the window and get out_!

_He threw himself against the heated glass_…_ But his injuries had weakened him_…_ He lacked the strength to break it_…

_He heard a scream_._ He looked out the window and saw_…_ a girl_?_ He thought so_,_ but he couldn_'_t be sure_…_ Her form was impossible to make out through the flames_…

_He felt sadness build up inside of him with the realization that he was about to die_,_ and wouldn_'_t be able to tell her how much he loved her_…

_He loved her_?

_Yes_…_ This was the woman he loved_!_ The woman he wanted for a wife_!

_The flames cut him off from the window_._ He searched the room_._ He had to survive_._ He **had** to_!_ He had to live for **her**_!

_He glanced around_._ A cellar_!_ He could escape the burning carnage through the tunnels_!

_He threw off the rug that covered the trapdoor that led to the cellar_._ He started to lower himself into the welcome cool of the underground_._ A cracking sound above him caught his attention_._ He looked up in horror as a support beam from the ceiling came down_._ The roof collapsed with it_._ The beam hit him squarely on the head_,_ making his world explode in colour_._ He fell into the cellar_,_ the trapdoor falling shut and shielding him from further harm_.

_He lay on his back_,_ unmoving_._ He felt blood trickle down the back of his neck_._ His world was growing dark_…

"_No one_…_ but_…_ you_…"_ he blew out on a breath as he closed his eyes and slipped into unconsciousness_.

XxXxX

The Phantom shot upright, fully awake.

"The Hell?" he murmured.

His head hurt. He rested his forehead in his hands and rubbed his temples.

"What is that girl doing to me?"


	6. Erik!

**_6. Erik!_**

Margaret fled to the roof as fast as she could. Raoul wouldn't like the fact that she was alone, but she really didn't care. She _needed_ to be alone.

LaForte had taken them to one of the fanciest restaurants in the city. Everything started out quite well. LaForte was a gentleman, and he behaved accordingly.

But then… then he began acting so… so forward! He took it upon himself to start calling her by her first name. He ordered her meal for her, he began asking personal questions… Why, he… he even took her _hand_ as they were exiting the restaurant!

Margaret had wanted to reproach him for his behaviour, but dared not. She did not want to make scene, nor did she want to make Raoul look bad. So she merely endured LaForte's behaviour, though she did not miss the dark look that passed Raoul's eyes when LaForte boldly took hold of her hand. She imagined that her brother would be having words with LaForte later…

Margaret burst out into the welcome cool air of the roof. There, she collapsed to her knees and cried.

She felt so guilty for allowing LaForte's behaviour. She felt as though she had been unfaithful to Erik, in some strange way.

"I'm so sorry, Erik," she whispered, choking on her tears. "I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry…"

Her fingers touched the chain at her throat. With tears blurring her vision, she looked at her engagement ring.

"No one but you," she whispered. "You… the Music of my Life…"

XxXxX

"_You look so beautiful tonight_,"_ Erik whispered as he and Margaret laid side_-_by_-_side in the grass_.

"_I am curious about one thing_,_ though_,"_ Margaret said_. "_You promised me an evening that I_'_ll never forget_…_ So far all we_'_ve done is the same things we always do_…"

_Erik rolled over onto his side and propped his head up on his elbow_,_ looking at her_. "_I love you_,_ Margaret_…"

"_I love you too_,_ Erik_…"

_Erik was quiet for a long time_. "_Margaret_?"

"_Hmm_?"

"_Ever since we met_…_ You have been my inspiration_… _Did you know that you_'_re the Music of my Life_?"

"_That_'_s very flattering_,_ Erik_," _Margaret said_. "_But did you know that you have always had my heart_?"

_Erik looked down at her with awe_. "_I_…_ I do_?"

"_Always_…"

_Erik smiled_,_ seemingly encouraged by her words_. "_I wrote a song for you_…"

_Margaret smiled_. "_You did_?"

_Erik nodded_."_I just don_'_t know if it is good enough for one such as you_…"

"_I always love your music_,_ Erik_…"

"_Then you must be my critic_," _he said as he sat up and pulled her into his lap_. "_Be completely honest_…"

"_Very well_,"_ Margaret said with a smile_. "_I am ready for you_,_ Maestro_…"

_He put his lips next to her ear_. "**_Nighttime sharpens_, _heightens each sensation_. _Magic stirs_, _and wakes imagination_. _Silently the senses abandon their defences_.**"

_Margaret listened intently to his beautiful voice_. _This song was so beautiful_!

"**_Slowly_, _gently_, _love unfurls its splendour_. _Grasp it_, _sense it_, _tremulous and tender_. _Turn your face away_ _from the troubles of today_. _Turn your thoughts away from darkness_, _fear_, _and strife_… _And ever be the Music of my Life_.**"

_Erik stood and helped her to her feet_.

"**_Close your eyes and surrender to your wildest dreams_. _Purge your thoughts of the pain you_'_ve felt before_. _Close your eyes_,_ let your spirit start to soar_… _And you_'_ll live as you_'_ve never lived before_.**"

_Erik_'_s voice filled the night air_, _as it did in that stormy darkness all those months ago_. _At that very moment_,_ listening to him sing_,_ Margaret would have gladly followed him through fire and brimstone_.

"**_Softly_, _deftly_, _music shall caress you_. _Hear it_, _feel it_, _secretly possess you_. _Open up your mind_, _let your fantasies unwind_. _In this life that holds its sorrow and its strife_, _you have always been the Music of my Life_.**"

_It was like magic_!_ She couldn_'_t imagine wanting to be anywhere else but here_,_ under the starlit sky in Erik_'_s arms_.

"**_Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world_! _Leave all thoughts of the life we knew before_! _Let your soul take you where you long to be_!**"

_Erik_'_s voice_,_ which had been strong and powerful_,_ dropped to a faint whisper as he drew her close_.

"**_And please say that you_'_ll give yourself to me_…**"

_Margaret_'_s heart skipped a beat as her mind processed the implication of those words_… _Erik ran his large hands up and down her back_,_ caressing her sides_.

"**_Floating_, _falling_, _sweet intoxication_… _Touch me_, _trust me_, _savour each sensation_… _Let the dream begin_, _let it go and just give in_. _Give me the greatest gift that_'_s ever touched my life_…**"

_Margaret gasped when Erik reached into his pocket and took out a small diamond ring_._ He took her left hand and got down on one knee_.

"**_Say you_'_ll share my love and become my wife_…**"

"_Erik_…_ I_…_ you_…?"

"_Margaret_,"_ Erik_'_s voice was breaking with emotion_. "_I need you_…_ I want you by my side_,_ now and for eternity_…_ I know I don_'_t deserve you_…_ I know I can never offer you riches or luxury_…_ But I can offer you my whole heart_…_ All of my love_,_ forever_…_ No one but you_…"_ He squeezed her hand_. "_Please_…_ take your poor Erik for a husband_…"

_Tears of happiness flowed down Margaret_'_s cheeks_. "_Yes_,_ Erik_…_ I will marry you_…"

_Erik flew to his feet and caught her in his arms_,_ crushing his mouth against hers_._ When he pulled back he slipped his modest diamond onto the ring finger of her left hand_.

"**_You alone can make my song take flight_… _You alone are the Music of my Life_…**"

XxXxX

The Phantom breathed deep. The cool air was relaxing. It had been a good idea to come up to the roof to get some fresh air.

But Fate was determined not to allow him a single moment of complete happiness… He realized with dejection that this was where he had witnessed Christine and the Vicomte profess their undying love for each other… where his heart had been shattered… where all hope of love was lost…

In a pitiful attempt to comfort himself, he started humming a familiar tune. "**_Nighttime sharpens_,_ heightens each sensation_…**"

XxXxX

Margaret froze when she heard _his_ voice. "_Am I just hearing things again_?"

But the voice seemed so real this time… so _close_… and it was singing _their_ song!

"**_Darkness stirs_,_ and wakes imagination_…**"

Wait… that's not how the words went!

She followed the voice around Apollo's lyre and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a tall figure standing with his back to her. He was clad all in black… it was as though he wore darkness like a shroud… but she could never mistake his gorgeous black hair, or his strong, broad back…

Margaret stood for what felt like hours, staring at him… afraid that if she moved or spoke, he would disappear… that it was all a dream…

Moments ticked by and still he stood, completely oblivious to her presence, as real as anything she had ever seen.

"Erik!"

The figure whirled on her, and she stifled a scream when she saw the white half-mask, glaring at her coldly. Margaret stumbled backward and fell to the ground, covering her head and squeezing her eyes shut.

"Phantom!" she cried. All of the horror stories she had heard came rushing to the front of her mind. She imagined him pulling out his dreaded noose and squeezing the life from her lungs.

"Don't hurt me!" she begged. "Please!"

"Why would I harm what I've already taken such pains to save?"

Margaret gasped. His _voice_!

She heard his quickly retreating footsteps. When she opened her eyes, he was gone… She was alone…

Margaret sat frozen in shock, unable to move from her spot on the ground.

"Erik?" she whispered.

It had sounded like him… But could it be?

Margaret felt a sick, churning sensation in her stomach. His voice was unmistakable. It could very well have been him…

But how could that be possible? The Phantom and Erik Destler, one and the same? How could gentle, loving Erik be a cruel, violent madman? The Phantom tried to kill her brother! Erik would never – _could_ never – ever bring harm to anyone!

And surely Erik would not hide himself away from her, pretending to be a ghost in a theatre! No, he loved her! Why would he choose to be anywhere but with her?

"It wasn't him…" Margaret whispered as she rocked herself back and forth. "It can't be him… It _can_'_t_ be!"

XxXxX

Raoul pounded on the door to Margaret's room franticly. A very sleepy Meg opened the door, wearing a dressing gown. Her eyes widened when she saw Raoul.

"Vicomte? Are you alright?"

"Margaret! Is she in there with you? Please, tell she's in there with you!"

The colour drained from Meg's face. "N-n-no… She hasn't come back yet… Y-you mean… She's not with you or Christine or Monsieur LaForte?"

"I wouldn't be here is she was!" Raoul cried. "She disappeared after we returned, and I haven't been able to find her!"

"Calm down, Vicomte," Meg said gently. "She must be here somewhere… I'll get dressed and–"

"I will not calm down!" Raoul cried. "What if she harms herself? Or worse–"

"I'm fine, Raoul…"

Raoul whirled around to find Margaret standing behind him. He breathed a sigh of relief. Then his face grew angry again. "Where were you? I told you that you are not to be by yourself at any time!"

"I just needed some fresh air…"

"Well, you should have told me! I would have been more than happy to take you for a walk outside! Dammit, Margaret–"

Raoul stopped when he noticed how pale Margaret was. He looked at her hands and found them shaking.

"Margaret? Are you alright?"

Margaret swallowed hard and nodded.

"Are you sure? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Margaret couldn't help but wince at his words. "N-no… I'm fine… I'm just very tired… I'd like to go to bed now…"

Meg opened the door wider for Margaret to enter their room. Just before she closed to door, Raoul cried out. "Margaret!"

Margaret turned to look at him. "Yes, Raoul?"

Raoul opened his mouth, then closed it. "I… Have a good sleep, Margaret…"

Margaret nodded. "You too, Raoul…"

Then she closed the door.

XxXxX

Despite her claim that she was very tired, Margaret laid wide-awake in bed. Meg Giry was sleeping soundly next to her. Margaret couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Erik's face… and the Phantom's masked face…

Could there be even the smallest chance that Erik was the Phantom?

His voice was identical to Erik's… with one small difference… While Margaret had always known Erik's voice to be gentle, full of love and compassion, the Phantom's voice was harsh and cold, thick with bitterness and spite.

If the Phantom truly was Erik, then why? Why the change? And why did he abandon her?

Margaret rolled out of bed with a groan and reached under the bed. She pulled out Erik's strong box. There were still scorch marks on the outside of it, but everything inside had been saved from the fire.

Margaret lifted the lid. She lovingly lifted Erik's violin out of the box. It was almost crime that such a beautiful instrument had been neglected for so long. Its master had made it play like no one ever could…

Margaret set the instrument gently on the floor and lifted the opera score from the box. _Mémoires des Anges_ was its name. Margaret flipped through the sheets until she came to the love song. Erik hadn't gotten around to naming it… He just referred to it as 'the love song.' He had jotted down a few lyrics for the first verse… the rest was incomplete…

Margaret softly hummed. "**_There were nights when the wind was so cold that my body froze in bed if I just listened to it_, _right outside the window_… _There were days when the sun was so cruel that all the tears turned to dust_, _and I just knew my eyes were drying up forever_…**"

Meg groaned as she rolled over in bed. "Margaret?"

Margaret stopped. "Oh! I'm sorry, Meg! I didn't mean to wake you up!"

"It's alright," Meg yawned. She looked at the score in Margaret's arms. "What's that?"

Margaret glanced down at the music. "It's Erik's…"

Meg slipped out of bed and sat down beside her friend. "You must miss him a lot…"

Margaret closed her eyes and nodded.

"Is it an opera?" Meg asked.

"Yes… He said that if it was successful he would use the money he earned to give me the biggest wedding ever…"

Meg looked sad as she looked at the music. "He must have loved you so much…"

Margaret nodded as she felt tears spring into her eyes. "Yes… he did…" She sighed as she held the yellowing pages against her bosom. As she did so, a piece of paper fell from between the pages of the score.

"What's this?" Meg asked as she picked it up. Her eyes scanned the page and the colour drained from her face.

"Meg? What is it?"

"Margaret," Meg breathed. "Read this!"

Margaret took the paper from Meg and gasped. "This is Erik's signature! And… who's Jean LeFevre?"

"He was the owner of the Opera Populaire a few years ago…"

Margaret's eyes grew as she read the paper. "This… this is a contract! Erik was going to sell his operas exclusively to the Opera Populaire!" She dropped the page. "The night of the fire… he said he had a surprise for me when I got home from dinner… He was going to show me this! It meant that he was going to make a lot of money… as a successful composer!" Margaret faced Meg. "He always felt like he was taking me away from a secure future, asking me to marry him… I knew he couldn't afford much, but I didn't mind! Really, I didn't! He must have felt like he could give me so much more… writing for the Opera Populaire…"

"What are you going to do, Margaret?"

Margaret was silent for a moment as she stared at the paper in her hands. "What is there to do? It can't change anything… You can't change the past…" She closed her eyes and held the contract close to her heart. "This music won't bring him back…"

XxXxX

"Your sister is a charming woman," LaForte told Raoul as the two men strolled along the corridors of the Opera Populaire. "I would very much enjoy getting to know her better."

"Monsieur," Raoul began, "you were being very forward with Margaret at dinner. Frankly, I think you made her uncomfortable. I have told you of her past, and–"

"Forgive me, Vicomte," LaForte said quickly. "It's just that your sister is so lovely and so charming… She is a remarkable woman. The kind of woman – if I may say so – that would make a very lucky man a good wife."

Raoul sighed. "Monsieur, I have been over this already… Margaret's heart still belongs to Destler…"

"Ah, the dead man," LaForte muttered. "Destler? Erik Destler? Peculiar name. A composer, you say? Odd, I'm not sure that I have heard of him. I know most of the big names in my business. Destler _was_ a successful man, was he not?"

Raoul looked at the floor. "No."

LaForte looked shocked. "You would allow your sister to marry a penniless, starving artist? How on earth was the man supposed to support her? Your sister deserves only the best, Vicomte." LaForte shook his head. "A woman like your sister should be with a man who can give her everything!"

"Love was the reason I allowed it," Raoul said. "I was not entirely _happy_ about her choice, but I could see it plainly in their eyes. They were deeply in love. I could not cause my sister grief and forbid her a marriage to a good man."

"Nonetheless," LaForte continued, "Destler is dead. Is it not time for your sister to seek a new horizon?"

"I admit, I have hoped every day that she would find peace and start a new life… But she refuses to forget Destler. What am I to do?"

"Perhaps your sister needs some help forgetting," LaForte said with a sly grin. "Think about it, Vicomte…" He turned and began walking in the opposite direction. "The hour grows late… Good evening, dear Vicomte…"

XxXxX

"Damn that girl, damn that girl, _damn_ that girl!" the Phantom yelled as he paced furiously around his lair.

Was he not allowed a single moment's peace? All he had wanted was some fresh air to clear his head. Why did that girl have to show up everywhere he went?

Worse, she saw him this time. And she had reacted just as any other person would. How could she possibly understand him?

He grew so weary of the sound of screams…

She had cowered before him. He made no threats… no signs of attack… But she cowered and cried and begged him not to hurt her.

Hurt her? He could never imagine himself hurting her. Ever since the day he rescued her, he realized that all he wanted to do was protect her. These were complex emotions that he couldn't even begin to comprehend. But he always felt strange when he was near her.

He felt… responsible… That it was his _duty_ to take care of her…

Damn his cursed emotions!

Then there was Erik… The late Monsieur Erik Destler… The mysterious lover… Not much was known about him, but Margaret had said his name before he turned and she realized who he was. Surely she hadn't thought _he_ was Erik? The idea was preposterous! Who could fall in love with a deformed monstrosity such as himself? Clearly the girl was simply mad with grief!

And yet, that would be the second time she had looked at him and said her lover's name. What did it mean?

The Phantom's head was throbbing. He collapsed onto his bed and squeezed his eyes shut, willing Margaret's face from his mind, and eventually fell into a deep slumber.


	7. Searching for Erik

**_7. Searching for Erik_**

"That concludes our rehearsal for today!" Madame Giry announced to the exhausted Corps du Ballet. "We are going to work doubly hard on the ballet in Act Three tomorrow. I suggest you all get a good night's rest. You're going to need it."

Choruses of moans and groans rose from the tired girls as they limped off of the stage. Margaret fidgeted in her chair as she waited for them to leave, clutching a tiny portrait to her chest. She hadn't been able to get Erik off of her mind. Her nightmares were plagued with visions of the Phantom… She would see him kill her brother before her eyes, then he would rip off his mask and she would see Erik's face.

Madame Giry had been at the Opera Populaire longer than anyone else. Raoul had told Margaret how she had been helpful when he had to rescue Christine from the Phantom's clutches. If anyone had answers, Madame Giry would.

At last, the auditorium was empty save for Madame Giry and Margaret. Madame Giry turned to the girl.

"Shall I see you back to your room?" she asked.

Margaret cleared her throat. "Actually… I was hoping you could help me…"

"If it is in my power," Madame Giry smiled.

Margaret lowered her voice. "You must promise not to tell…"

"Very well…"

"Not even Raoul!"

Madame Giry paused. "Alright… not even your brother…"

Margaret took a deep breath. "I… I went to the roof by myself last night… I heard Erik's voice again!"

"My dear, you must believe me," Madame Giry began. "It couldn't have been Erik's voice. Erik is–"

"Dead… I know… I thought I was just hearing things again, but… He sounded so close! And when I followed the sound of his voice… I saw a man!"

"A _man_?"

"Yes! But then he turned, and… Oh, Madame Giry! It was the Phantom of the Opera!"

Madame Giry gasped. "The… the _Phantom_? Are you certain?"

"He wore the mask… the black clothes… He was exactly as Raoul described him!"

"But… surely it was just some stagehand playing a trick on you!"

Margaret shook her head. "This was no hoax… He was like a living shadow… It was as though he _was_ darkness! He made the night air seem so much colder… I was paralyzed with fear before he even moved! Surely only the true Phantom could inspire such feelings!"

"Did he hurt you?"

"No… But when he spoke, Madame… Oh, Madame… When he spoke, I heard Erik's voice!"

Madame Giry gasped. "What… what are you saying?"

"I didn't get a good look at his face… And dear God, I hope I'm wrong… Raoul told me that… that the Phantom considered you… an ally of sorts. You were the only person he trusted. You've seen him up close…"

Madame Giry began putting the pieces together. "You want me to confirm whether or not it is possible that Erik Destler and the Phantom are the same person."

Margaret looked down at the portrait in her hands. "Erik's skills in the Arts were not limited to writing music. He was also an amateur architect, an instrumentalist, a sculptor, and a painter. I asked him to make this for my birthday… It's a miniature of him…" She handed the portrait to Madame Giry. "Is there any likeness? Any at all?"

Madame Giry's heart nearly stopped when she looked at the picture. Monsieur Destler was definitely a gifted artist, for the detail in the portrait was great. He had done a good job of capturing himself on canvas.

But what caught Madame Giry's eye was that even though the man in the portrait was quite handsome, there were definite similarities between him and the Phantom… The hair, black as coal… A jaw that seemed like chiselled granite and the neck that appeared more solid than a pillar… But most of all, the eyes – stormy grey, so intense that one could lose themselves in his gaze…

Madame Giry tentatively lifted her hand and covered the right side of his face with her fingers. She nearly gasped when, for a short moment, it appeared to be the Phantom's face staring back at her,

"Well…?" Margaret's voice broke the silence. "Is there any… similarity?"

Madame Giry swallowed. "I… I'm sorry… I don't see much resemblance…"

Margaret's shoulders slumped, and she was surprised to find herself disappointed. Shouldn't she be relieved to know that Erik was not the murderous Phantom?

"Thank you anyway, Madame," Margaret said as she reached out to take the portrait back.

"Wait," Madame Giry said. "Why don't you let me keep this and study it a little longer? Just to be sure?"

Margaret bit her lip. "It's the only picture I have of him…"

"I will keep it safe," Madame Giry promised. "And I will return it to you as soon as I can confirm whether or not this is the Phantom's face…"

Margaret hesitated. "Al-alright," she said reluctantly.

"Thank you, my dear," Madame Giry said. "Now run along, and Meg and I will take you to dinner tonight…"

Margaret left, and Madame Giry looked once more at the portrait in her hand.

"Monsieur le Fantôme du l'Opera… I think you may have a name…"

XxXxX

A week later, Margaret found herself sighing as Christine and Meg scurried around her suite, preparing their costumes for the upcoming New Year's Eve Masquerade. Christine had bought a beautiful shimmering white ball gown… she was going to wear jewels in her hair and a small white mask with silver edging… She said she was going to go as the Winter Queen…

Meg had a white dress that fell straight, brought in at the waist with a silver cord. The dress had golden trim and an attached sheer drape at the back. She was going to wear a golden crown that she found in the props room, and go as Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom.

Margaret was going to wear the green gown that she had bought so many weeks ago. Christine and Meg had kept their promise with the wings and mask. Meg had found fairy wings in the props room. They were shimmering, light green material that draped from a curved top wire. They could easily hook onto the back of her bodice, and they had ribbon lacing for added security. The mask would cover her whole face, leaving only her lips exposed. It was a deep green with gold trim, accented with purple and green and gold ribbons, and peacock feathers.

Christine decided that Margaret would go as the Fairy Princess of the Wood. The completed costume would, as Meg put it, 'turn the head of every man in the room.'

Margaret was grateful for what her friends had done for her, and she knew she should be excited for the Masquerade. But how could she look forward to anything anymore? Especially now with all the questions that had been raised about what had truly happened to Erik on the night of the fire?

Madame Giry had not yet given her a definite answer. She hoped she would know the truth soon. The suspense was driving her mad…

XxXxX

The Phantom sat back in his desk chair, examining the small diamond ring in his hand… a parting gift from Christine…

He had clung to this tiny ring… one of the few things he had left to remind him of Christine… He had cherished every memory of her, and always held her close to his heart…

How could that change so suddenly over the course of only a few months?

He'd put away the drawings of her… He didn't go to her room anymore… _Don Juan Triumphant_ was locked away… Now a new face was filling his every thought…

"Margaret de Chagny," he murmured as he put Christine's ring away in his desk drawer. "What is it about your sad eyes that make me want to be your comfort? How is it that you have so easily bewitched the Phantom's soul?"

Christine no longer needed him. She had her husband to take care of her. But Margaret? If anyone needed an angel, Margaret did. But was he prepared to be an angel once again? For her? He wasn't sure.

She had seen him and she had been afraid. But fear could turn to love, couldn't it?

"Love?" he laughed out loud. "No, I am never going to love again, nor allow anyone to love me… _L_'_amour_ only leads to pain…"

She had been afraid of him… How could he ever show her that he wouldn't harm her? How could she possibly understand?

"I was meant to be alone," he whispered.

"_I_'_m always with you_…"

The Phantom jolted in his chair. Had he just heard his own voice in his mind?

"_Please_…_ Take your poor Erik for a husband_…"

Erik? Now that man was to invade his thoughts too?

The Phantom put his hands over his ears. "Stop…" he whispered.

"_I need you_…"

"Shut up…"

"_No one but you_…"

"Shut up!"

"_I love you_…"

"No!"

He slammed his head against the nearest wall, so hard that he caused a small cut on his forehead. He staggered back from the wall, dazed from the self-inflicted blow. But the voices were quiet now.

"What are these memories?" he whispered. The black shroud over his mind seemed to flicker momentarily. But then everything was darkness again.

"If only I could remember…" he whispered in despair.

Then an idea came to him. Perhaps the de Chagny girl could help him remember! After all, it was her presence that began bringing these sketchy images to his mind. A little more time near her could possibly clear up some of the mysteries of his past.

But how to do so without rousing suspicion? She was constantly in the presence of Raoul or Christine, or one of their friends. They would recognize him if he ever showed his face – or his _mask_, for that matter… Margaret, too, would know him on sight.

But… there was a way…

The New Year's Eve Masquerade…

If he adopted a disguise, he could easily pass through the crowd without anyone even guessing his true identity. As sister of the patron, Margaret was sure to be there. He could appear, ask for one dance, spark a conversation, and be gone before anyone knew he was there! With any luck, some of his questions would finally have answers.

"Then I suppose I should prepare, then," he murmured. "I must look my best for my first public appearance in one year…"

The Phantom began looking through his clothing as he hummed. "**_Masquerade_…_ Paper faces on parade_…_ Masquerade_…_ Hide your face so the world will never find you_…**"

XxXxX

LaForte grinned to himself as he thought about the upcoming Masquerade ball. He would make Margaret de Chagny want him like no woman ever wanted a man before!

The beautiful heiress was going to be his bride, if was the last thing he ever did!

Dominique LaForte was a man who always got what he wanted…

"Monsieur Erik Destler will roll in his grave when he sees how easily his would-be bride submits to me," he murmured with a smile. "No one is going to get in my way this time…"

XxXxX

The next day, Margaret sat in at the rehearsal for _Feu du Conquérant_. It was a good opera, no doubt of it. But the music did nothing to stir her blood or make her heart soar, like Erik's music could. She just wished that he had had the chance to see his dream unfold on the stage.

"_I had you_…_ That_'_s all I needed_…"

Margaret jumped when she turned and saw Erik sitting in the chair beside her. It was a dream, she knew. Just her imagination. He often appeared to her this way when she felt incredibly lonely.

"You deserved to hear your music performed this way," Margaret told the spectre.

The ghost shrugged. "_Perhaps_…_ But what is done is done_…" He looked at the stage. "_Ah_,_ the thundering climax_…"

Margaret picked up an extra manuscript and began to read it. The opera was about two angels who fell in love with a mortal woman. The first angel was ambitious and determined… He resolved to take the woman his bride, no matter what it took. The other angel was more of a romantic, with silly dreams of love and romance. It was the second angel who lured the mortal woman away, filling her mind with false promises of eternal love and security. But the first angel would not see his love taken from him so easily.

At this point in the opera, the first angel confronts the second and they lock horns in a battle to the death. But the first angel becomes _la Conquérant_ when he throws the second into the pits of Hell, where he is consumed by fire.

"_What_'_s wrong with being a hopeless romantic_?" the spectre of Erik asked. "_Is it so terrible to dream of a better life_…_ beside the one you love most_?"

"Monsieur LaForte seems to be more of a down-to-earth sort of man," Margaret murmured.

"_You don_'_t like him very much_,_ do you_?" Erik said with a laugh.

"He seems to view me as a prize to be won," Margaret whispered.

"_If you are a prize_," Erik said, "_then I must have won first place_!"

Margaret sighed wistfully. "You're the only one who can make me feel so cherished, Erik…"

Erik looked back at the stage. "_The leading tenor is in fine form today_…_ He is straining on those high notes though_,_ isn_'_t he_?"

"You noticed that?" Margaret said.

"_The diva leaves much to be desired_…"

Margaret had to agree. As bad as she had heard Carlotta had been, La Rosa was truly terrible! How could the managers stand her?

"_Listen to the chorus_," Erik instructed her. "_The sopranos are rather weak_,_ are they not_?"

"Yes," Margaret agreed.

"_Maybe someone should set these people straight_?"

"Perhaps you are right…"

"Talking to yourself, Margaret?"

Margaret practically felt her skin crawl as LaForte sat in the chair where Erik's spectre had been.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" LaForte said as he gazed up at the stage. Margaret was disgusted at how he spoke so highly of his own work. As much as he refused to believe it, there _were_ other composers out there who could write music better than him!

Or at least… there was one…

"Excuse me," Margaret said as she stood up. "I feel a little tired. I think I will return to my room."

She fled the auditorium as fast as she could.

XxXxX

The Phantom practically growled as he watched Margaret leave.

"Monsieur LaForte," he muttered. "One of these days, we're going to have a talk about how a gentleman should behave towards a young woman…"

The Phantom snickered at the thought of a deranged killer informing one of Paris' finest how he should treat a woman!

With Margaret gone, the Phantom redirected his attention to the stage.

"The leading tenor is doing well today," he murmured. "Those high notes are strained, though… Dear God, I wish they would replace that diva! I'm gone for a year, and look what I find when I get back! She's ten times worse than La Carlotta… And the chorus! Where are the sopranos? I can barely hear them!"

The Phantom scowled as he watched the stage. Those foolish managers were unwittingly destroying _his_ theatre! He couldn't just stand by anymore and let them do this!

"It's about time I set these people straight…"

XxXxX

Madame Giry stole a glance at the miniature of Erik Destler… During a brief conversation earlier that morning, Meg had revealed to her mother that Margaret had told her how Erik died…

A house fire… Around the same time the Phantom came into her life…

Images of a dirty, tired, lost Phantom filled her mind. She remembered the day she found him lying by the road. She recalled how his clothing was extremely dirty… as though he had been sleeping in a fireplace. There were holes in his clothes that, upon further inspection, she discovered had burned in. Not to mention he smelled like a campfire when she found him.

His face was blistered and he would have died had she not worked to fight the infection in his skin. There was no doubt in her mind that he had been in a fire before she found him.

But he couldn't remember anything! He slipped in and out of consciousness while he was at her home, so he barely remembered those first weeks, as Madame Giry worked ceaselessly to save his life. He did not accept his deformity as an injury, or a scar… He saw the imperfection as a curse that surely had brought him misery in the life he could not remember. He refused to let her inform anyone of his whereabouts. He was certain that no one could possibly want him… no one could be looking for him… Not with a face like his…

But perhaps someone _had_ wanted him… Perhaps Margaret could have been spared years of pain if only she had known…

Madame shook her head and put the portrait away. What were the chances? She couldn't run about proclaiming the Phantom as the long-lost Erik Destler… What would it do to Margaret if she was wrong? What would it do to the Phantom? She couldn't turn their lives upside-down until she was positive…

"_I will keep my word to Margaret_," Madame Giry thought. "_I will tell no one of this_…_ Not even the Phantom_…_ I won_'_t cause them any more pain_…_ Not until I can find some kind of proof_…"


	8. The Masquerade Ball

**_8. The Masquerade Ball_**

Raoul smiled at the sight of Christine as she arrived at the Masquerade ball with Madame Giry.

"You're as beautiful as ever," he whispered as he kissed her cheek. He looked around. "Where's Margaret?"

"Oh… she'll be along with Meg a little later…" A knowing smile crossed her lips.

"What is it?" Raoul asked suspiciously.

"Let's just say," Christine said as she took his arm, "you're going to have your work cut out for you this evening…"

XxXxX

The Phantom surveyed the crowd, searching for any sign of recognition in the eyes of those around him.

Fortunately, he found none…

His costume was not, by any stretch of the imagination, elaborate… He was dressed in his regular evening formalwear, with the collar of his cloak pulled high around his face. He wore a black mask, similar to the one he wore for the performance of _Don Juan Triumphant_, and a black fedora that shadowed his features.

He looked up at the grand staircase and saw Christine. She was breathtakingly beautiful in her white ball gown. She looked just like the angel he had always known her to be…

He scowled as he watched her take the arm of the Vicomte, smiling and giggling and enjoying herself. She looked so happy…

"Stupid Fop," he muttered.

The Phantom looked around. Where was Margaret? Surely she would be at the Masquerade! She had to be there!

He quickly calmed himself. Why was the girl so important to him? Why did he hate not knowing where she was?

XxXxX

"Such a lovely evening, Vicomte," LaForte commented to Raoul as he approached him and Christine. He was wearing a black domino and a silver mask. "Where ever is your lovely sister?"

"Oh, I'm sure she'll be along shortly," Raoul answered, although he was not too keen on letting LaForte get too close to Margaret.

"I do hope she arrives soon," LaForte said. "It's not much longer to midnight, and I was hoping she would – oh!"

Raoul turned and followed LaForte's gaze to the grand staircase. Many others turned to stare as well. Raoul's jaw dropped when he saw his sister and Meg Giry. He now understood what Christine had meant when she said that he would have his work cut out for him…

XxXxX

The very moment he laid eyes on Margaret, the Phantom cursed every deity in existence for making him a man. He knew it was her, despite her mask. No one else had such shimmering blonde hair and ivory skin. And tonight, she had outdone herself in beauty…

She was absolutely stunning! There was no other word to describe it! She wore a beautiful green gown with fairy wings, and a mask that drew his attention to her full, pink lips. The Phantom had to admit, she far outshone even Christine's beauty this evening.

The Phantom caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. He frowned as he saw Dominique LaForte pushing through the crowd, trying to get over to where Margaret was standing.

"I don't think so, Monsieur," the Phantom said under his breath as he moved to head him off.

He would have to disguise his voice. He couldn't take the chance that Christine or the Vicomte would overhear him talking to Margaret and recognize his voice. Margaret herself might even recognize it. But it wouldn't be very hard to make himself sound different.

"Reveal my secrets…"

XxXxX

Margaret grimaced as she saw LaForte heading her way.

"_Please don_'_t let him ask me to dance_," she prayed silently. "_Anyone but him_… _**Anyone** but him_!"

"My dear Margaret," LaForte said with a smile as he took Margaret's hand. "How lovely you are looking this evening!" He kissed each of her knuckles.

"Thank you, Monsieur," Margaret said quietly as she stared at the floor and tried to keep from being sick at the feeling of his lips on her skin.

He looked at her with the warmest of smiles on his face. "Dearest… Would you grant me the exceptional honour of giving me this d–?"

Margaret gasped when she felt someone grasp her other hand. "Mademoiselle, may I have this dance?"

Margaret turned to look at the speaker. He was tall, dressed all in black, and mysterious in character. She turned to look back at LaForte. He was glaring at the stranger, annoyance written clearly on his face.

"Excuse me, Monsieur," LaForte said acidly. "But this good lady and I were talking… Come back a little later, and maybe she'll take pity on you and grace you with a moment of her time!"

"Forgive me, Monsieur," the stranger said. "But I wasn't asking _you_. I couldn't help but notice how the good lady appeared extraordinarily bored. Perhaps present company is the cause…"

LaForte was shocked by the man's audacity. How _dare_ he?

"Monsieur, do you have any idea who you're talking to?" LaForte demanded.

The stranger smirked darkly. "Do _you_?"

LaForte didn't answer. Something about the tone of the man's voice sent a chill down his spine.

"Don't despair," the stranger continued. "I shan't keep her for the entire evening… Perhaps later the Mademoiselle will take pity on you and grace you with a moment of her time… Good evening, then…"

Margaret found herself being pulled towards the dance floor by the strange man. "Wait!" she cried. "Who are you? What–?"

She gasped when he turned to face her and pulled her close to his chest.

"Dance," he instructed her.

He grasped her right hand with his left one and placed his other hand on her waist. Her other hand rose to rest on his black-clad shoulder. In moments he had her twirling on the floor. Many stopped to watch them. Margaret was almost dizzy from him spinning her around and around, so she clung to him even tighter.

"You dance very well," she said softly. She paused. "Do I know you?"

"By my reputation," he answered.

"What is your name?"

"Hush now," he said. "Why spoil the mystery?" His eyes scanned her face. "You look so beautiful tonight…"

Margaret blushed. "Thank you, Monsieur…"

"And yet, so unhappy," he added.

Margaret said nothing as he spun her in his arms once again.

"Tell me," he whispered into her ear. "Why do you look so sad?"

"You wouldn't care to hear of my troubles," Margaret said.

"Try me," he challenged.

Margaret swallowed, unsure if she should open up to this man. They'd only just met! She didn't even know his name yet!

"My fiancé," she whispered finally. "He was killed four years ago… I miss him very much…"

"I see…" he said. "And what of this man? A nobleman, no doubt? Rich? Respected?"

"No… A common peasant… Poor… Alone, except for me…"

Now this was a startling revelation… The Phantom hadn't known that Erik Destler was a poor commoner! How did the Vicomte ever allow the engagement?

"And what of yourself?" he asked, wanting to change the subject from Erik Destler. Somehow, talk of that man always made him uneasy. "Please, tell me all about yourself…"

Margaret shrugged. "There isn't much to tell…"

"I find that difficult to believe," he said softly.

Margaret was overwhelmed. She felt so comfortable with this man, and he was a complete stranger! And strangely, she didn't feel guilty about accepting his dance. She didn't feel like she was betraying Erik by being with this man!

The waltz finally came to an end, and a new song began. The stranger pulled back from her slightly.

"Thank you for the dance," he said. "Perhaps I should let you get back to the man with the abnormally large ego…"

"Wait!" she called as he turned to walk away. When he faced her again, she nervously glanced down at her hands. "Maybe… you could give me the honour of another dance? Or two? Unless… if there's somewhere else you'd like to be–"

"I would greatly enjoy another dance," he answered. Then he smirked. "Or two…"

He took her into his arms and they began dancing again.

XxXxX

Raoul could hardly believe it. It appeared that Margaret had just asked the strange man for another dance!

It was odd. He appeared familiar. But Raoul couldn't remember where he'd seen him before. Perhaps he was one of the theatre's sponsors? He was richly dressed, so that was a logical assumption.

Christine appeared by his side, smiling at the sight of Margaret on the dance floor. "Did you see that?" she asked. "She asked him for another dance!"

"Does he look familiar to you?" Raoul asked her.

Christine smiled as she shook her head. "It's the New Year's Eve Masquerade, Raoul… _No one_ looks familiar to me!"

XxXxX

LaForte seethed as he watched the masked stranger take Margaret up on another dance. His hands on her body… His eyes on her face…

_He_ deserved to have Margaret in his arms tonight!

"She's just trying to make me jealous," LaForte muttered under his breath. "That's all… Why else would she want anything to do with him?"

Margaret de Chagny was going to be his, if was the last thing he ever did!

LaForte was shaken from his thoughts as the clock struck midnight. It was the New Year…

XxXxX

The Phantom was startled from the beautiful woman in his arms when the clock began to chime. It was midnight already! He looked around as everyone cheered and began taking off their masks. His blood ran cold. Of course! At midnight, everyone took their masks off! How stupid he was!

The Phantom turned to look back at Margaret. She had taken her mask off and was looking at him expectantly. He stared at her beautiful face in awe.

"Aren't you going to let me see you?" she asked innocently.

He began to sweat under his mask. He started to back away from her. "I think I should go now…"

"But wait!" she cried, grabbing his arm. "Won't you tell me your name? Who are you? You can't just leave without telling me!"

The Phantom breathed deeply. "Perhaps… it would be better if you forgot I was even here…"

"Monsieur, I don't understand!" Margaret cried, stilling clutching his arm.

"Let go of me, Margaret!" he growled, forgetting to disguise his voice.

Margaret gasped and stared up at him. His _voice_!

"How did you know my name?" she whispered. "Who are you?"

She looked into his eyes and gasped at the stormy grey depths that stared back at her. They were _his_ eyes…

Margaret reached up to take his mask off, but he caught her wrist in his hand.

"Leave me alone," he hissed. He removed himself from her and quickly retreated, disappearing into the crowd.

Margaret placed a hand on her chest, trying to calm her racing pulse. "Angel or lover? Friend or Phantom?"

XxXxX

"You are an idiot!" the Phantom shouted at himself in the mirror. "You are a stupid, stupid fool!"

He stalked away from the mirror, ripping his mask off and flinging it across the lair. He was normally so aware of everything, every tiny detail… But Margaret always managed to distract him! Every time he was near her, he behaved irrationally.

And he hated himself for it…

The Phantom found himself in Christine's room. Exhausted, he collapsed onto the swan bed.

"Just leave my thoughts… my dreams… leave me in peace…"

"_Erik_…"

The Phantom shot upright. "Who's there?"

"_Erik_…_ I need you_…"

The Phantom followed the voice out of Christine's room into the main room of his lair, where all the mirrors were.

"Here,Erik…"

The Phantom whirled around and found himself face to face with none other Margaret de Chagny!

"Why are you here?" he demanded. "How did you find this place?"

She didn't answer him. She just looked up at him with adoring eyes.

And then she smiled…

The Phantom felt his heart soar at the sight of her smiling. He was right… she was even more beautiful when she smiled. She looked happy. It pleased him to see her looking so content. He would do anything to ensure that she was always happy.

"I love you, Erik," she said as she reached up to touch his face.

The Phantom's heart came crashing back to earth when he felt her cool fingers brush his bare face. "No!" he cried. "You can't! Not with this face! Not with–"

The Phantom froze when he caught sight of himself in one of the mirrors. His face… it was perfect on _both_ sides!

He turned to look at Margaret again. She smiled as she took his hand.

"No one but you, Erik… No one but you…"

The Phantom didn't understand… But he found himself slowly nodding his head. "No one but you," he whispered.

Margaret leaned up to press her lips against his.

The Phantom jolted awake, finding himself still lying on the swan bed. He looked around. There was no one else there. He was alone.

It was just a dream…

"Why do I hear her calling me Erik?" he wondered. "Why _him_?"

The Phantom laid back on the bed and buried his head into the velvet lining. He had a headache. He was getting headaches more and more often, lately… Presently, it felt like someone was banging on his skull with a hammer on the _inside_!

"Perhaps…" he whispered. "Perhaps it is because… I want her to love me the way she loves Erik… But why? I tried so hard not to fall in love with her!"

The Phantom groaned as rolled over onto his side. He tried not to love her… But it was almost as if she had always had his heart… As though he had no choice…

"I want to see her smile," he whispered. "For _real_… I want to see her happy…"

He pulled his knees up to his chest and slowly rocked himself. Why was he destined to have his heart broken twice?

XxXxX

Margaret chewed her nails as she watched rehearsals the next day. She couldn't get her mind off of the masked stranger from the previous night. She could still feel his hands on her waist. She remembered how she had felt so incredibly comfortable with him. And then, just moments before he left, she heard _his_ voice… she saw _his_ eyes…

Was it Erik? Was it the Phantom? Was it _both_?

She wished he had stayed long enough for her to find out. If it _was_ Erik, why did he leave her? Why didn't he let her see his face?

But part of Margaret feared that she was getting her hopes up. Part of her was afraid that she was wrong… that Erik really was dead… that he was never coming back…

"You shouldn't chew, my dear, it's bad for you…"

Margaret grimaced at the sickly sweet voice as she pulled her finger from her mouth. But she curtsied politely for LaForte as she turned to face him.

"Monsieur," she said in greeting.

"My dear," he said with a smile. "I never got the honour of asking you for a dance last night." A dark look passed his eyes. "Was your… _friend_… civil?"

"Yes, he was quite the gentleman…"

"And a lucky fellow he is," LaForte murmured as his eyes scanned Margaret up and down. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you looked last night?"

Margaret gulped. She wanted to run. Flee. Anything to get away from the predatory gaze he was currently giving her.

"Of course you do," LaForte laughed. "Any fool with two eyes could easily see that you were the most gorgeous woman in the room last night…"

"Th-thank you, Monsieur," Margaret whispered.

LaForte stepped closer. "I only regret that I wasn't able to spend a little more time with you… But perhaps I might make it up to you… There's a lovely little restaurant just a block away from the theatre, and–"

"Margaret!"

Margaret sighed in relief as Christine, Meg, and Madame Giry came over to where she was standing with LaForte. An annoyed look passed his face but he quickly covered it up with a forced smile.

"Margaret, we've been looking everywhere for you!" Christine exclaimed. Then she winked, and Margaret knew that the women were really coming to her rescue.

"Who was that man you were dancing with last night?" Meg asked. "He seemed quite suave."

"Such a wonderful dancer, too," Christine added. "What was his name?"

"I don't know," Margaret said. "He left before I could ask him."

"Hardly gentlemanly," LaForte scoffed. "One would think he would at least give his name before abandoning her!"

"Well, I think it's romantic!" Meg stuck up for Margaret's mysterious dance partner. "Just think, Margaret… Maybe he was some handsome prince, out seeking his bride… Like a fairytale!"

"And he'll reveal himself to you when you least expect it!" Christine added excitedly.

"Pish posh!" LaForte laughed. "Forgive me, dear ladies, but life is not like those little storybooks you women so enjoy reading… If you want my opinion, the man was probably some penniless commoner trying to pass himself off as noble, luring poor unsuspecting women into romantic notions… I wouldn't be surprised if he was a poor farmer!"

"There's nothing wrong with being poor!" Margaret suddenly cried.

Everyone was silent as they looked at Margaret.

"Dearest," LaForte began, "I wasn't suggesting that there was anything wrong with being unfortunate… But a woman of your status should be with a man who can give her every luxury–"

"Luxury means little to me, Monsieur," Margaret whispered. "It's in the soul where I see the true worth…"

"I couldn't have said it better myself, Margaret…"

Margaret gasped as she turned to see her brother, standing a short distance away. How long had he been listening?

"Christine? Meg? Madame? It's a lovely day out. Why don't you all take Margaret out for a walk? The fresh air will do you wonders."

The women nodded and turned to leave, leaving Raoul alone with LaForte.

"I know what you're going to say, Vicomte–"

"I told you about Margaret's past!" Raoul snarled. "I told you that she still needed time to heal! You told me that you only had the most honourable attitude towards her! Yet all you have done is make her uncomfortable and stir up painful memories. You have no regard for how your actions affect my sister!"

LaForte's eyes darkened. "Your sister's ongoing grief is ridiculous! It's about time she got over Destler and started thinking about settling down with a husband!"

"Such as yourself?" Raoul laughed coldly. "Frankly, I'd sooner see her married to Andre or Firmin! At least I can count on _them_ to not try to seduce my sister when I've asked them not to!"

"Do not make a hasty decision that you will regret, Vicomte," LaForte warned.

"My mind is already made up!" Raoul said. "I do not want you to speak to my sister again! If you ever upset her again, believe me when I say that there will be consequences!"

"You can't do this to me!" LaForte growled.

"I already have," Raoul hissed. Then he turned on his heel and stalked away from the seething man.

"You forget, de Chagny," LaForte whispered. "Dominique LaForte always gets what he wants…"

XxXxX

Madame Giry only half-listened to the conversation that was being carried on by the other three girls as they walked down the snow-covered streets of Paris.

She had seen the man that had asked Margaret to dance, and had thought he looked familiar… But after Margaret's sketchy description of their encounter, there was little doubt in her mind as to who had challenged the great Dominique LaForte and asked Margaret to dance.

"_But why was he there_?" she wondered. "_And why did he choose Margaret_?"

The pieces were beginning to fall into place, and Madame Giry wasn't so sure that she liked the picture that was taking shape.


	9. A Private Show

**_9. A Private Show_**

Margaret passed through the halls of the opera house alone. It was late and she wanted to go to bed.

Raoul was slowly coming to trust her again. The watch had been removed from her bedroom door, and he no longer insisted that someone be with her _every_ minute. But he did like to check up on her every hour or so.

LaForte was becoming a problem, though. Raoul told Margaret that he had ordered the man to leave her be, or suffer the consequences. But it seemed that the man was not easily intimidated. He still tried to talk to her when she was alone. Margaret knew that she should probably tell Raoul about it… but she didn't want to cause any trouble.

Mostly, she just hoped that LaForte would eventually grow bored with trying to pursue her and move on to the next pretty chit that crossed his path…

It was at times like these that she wished Erik were with her… There would have been no way he would have let LaForte treat her this way, no matter how poor he was and how powerful LaForte was. He would have put a stop to it at day one.

Margaret stopped in her tracks when she heard footsteps coming towards her down the hall. Lamp light cast a shadow on the wall and she recognized the silhouette of Dominique LaForte. There was such a proud manner in which he held himself that made his profile quite distinguishable.

Margaret panicked. Who knew what he'd try alone in a dark corridor?

Instinctively, she grabbed the closest doorknob and opened it, disappearing into the darkened room.

She leaned against the door and sighed, relieved that she had managed to avoid LaForte… this time… She glanced around. A few candles were lit, illuminating the rather large room.

Margaret suddenly realized that this was the diva's dressing room! Fortunately for her though, it was empty at the moment.

Margaret sank down onto the divan at the adjacent wall. She decided to wait before leaving the room. She wanted to make sure LaForte was long gone before going back to her own room.

Margaret felt a shiver go down her spine… "_This used to be Christine_'_s dressing room_," she realized. She hugged herself as she glanced at the mirror – the passageway to the Phantom's realm. She would never even think of entering it. She could become lost, trapped, or even killed down there in the ancient labyrinth.

But the mirror was also the Phantom's window to the outside world. Margaret's stomach churned. Could he be there, right at that moment? Watching her? Studying her? She hoped it was not so. Even if he was Erik, the idea of being alone with a murderer was not enticing.

Margaret shook the thoughts from her head. The Phantom couldn't be Erik. There just wasn't any way that it could be possible. How could the man she loved so dearly and loved so much change so drastically? It was all wishful thinking. She had thought that having Erik as the Phantom was better than not having Erik at all. But she was wrong. It would kill her… _kill_ her… if the only man she ever loved was a murderer. It would just prove that she hadn't known him at all.

But she had known Erik like no one else. He was quiet… sensitive… romantic… compassionate… gentle… kind… All the things she knew the Phantom was not. He treated her like royalty. All he ever thought about was making her happy.

"Oh, Erik," she whispered. "I wish you were here… **_Nighttime sharpens_,_ heightens each sensation_…**"

XxXxX

The Phantom moved as silent as a shadow as he made his way to the mirror passage in the diva's dressing room. He hadn't gone to Box Five for quite some time now, and he needed somewhere to go to think.

Honestly, he could have just stayed down in his lair. It wasn't like it wasn't peaceful and quiet enough for him to think down there. But he was feeling a bit of cabin fever. He was restless. His home seemed too small. The walls were closing in on him. He couldn't sleep down there, either… for every time he closed his eyes Margaret de Chagny's face would haunt his dreams.

At last, he arrived at the mirror. He lifted a hand to trigger the mechanism that would open the mirror and allow him to pass into the world of the living. But a soft noise alerted him and he froze.

The door to dressing room opened and Margaret flew inside. She shut the door behind and sighed in relief as she leaned against the wall. The Phantom watched the steady rise and fall of her chest as she fought to slow her racing heartbeat.

God curse her for being so beautiful…

"_Why does she appear everywhere I go_?" he wondered, frustrated.

Margaret looked around and seemed to realize where she was. She walked over to the divan and sat down upon it. She did nothing for a very long time. It seemed as though she were waiting for something.

Margaret glanced around, looking a bit nervous, and hugged herself tightly. Her gaze fell upon the mirror. The look in her eyes reminded the Phantom of a frightened fawn.

"_Does she know about the passage_?" he wondered. "_Of course she does_…_ Her foolish brother probably told her everything_…_ I just hope she doesn_'_t try to come down to my domain_…_ She would surely die in one of the traps if she ever tried that_…"

Margaret sighed sadly. She looked troubled.

"Oh, Erik," she whispered. "I wish you were here…"

He hated seeing her look so sad.

"_Dammit_,_ I_'_d bring her Erik back to her if only I could_," the Phantom thought. "_Anything to see her smile again_…"

"**_Nighttime sharpens_,_ heightens each sensation_…**"

The Phantom's heart skipped a beat when he heard Margaret mournfully sing those words. First, he was stunned by the beauty of her voice. If only she weren't an aristocrat, he could have made her a prima donna! Second, he was baffled by the fact that she was singing his song… the one he wrote for Christine! Surely Christine did not teach Margaret that song. Why would she?

"**_Magic stirs_, _and wakes imagination_. _Silently the senses abandon their defences_… _Slowly_, _gently_, _love unfurls its splendour_. _Grasp it_, _sense it_, _tremulous and tender_. _Turn your face away_ _from the troubles of today_. _Turn your thoughts away from darkness_, _fear_, _and strife_… _And ever be the Music of my Life_.**"

She was changing the lyrics, though… Those weren't the words he sang to Christine.

What on earth was in her head?

The Phantom felt dizzy. His head was pounding. He nearly passed out right there in the passage as a dream… a vision… seized his consciousness…

XxXxX

_He replaced the music_-_maker inside the small pine box and set it into motion_._ He smiled to himself as he listened to the music_._ She was sure to love the changes he had made_…

_Unable to stop himself_,_ he began singing the words_. "**_Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world_! _Leave all thoughts of the life we knew before_! _Let your soul take you where you long to be_!** **_And please say that you_'_ll give yourself to me_…**"

_He hadn_'_t known that it was possible to be so in love_._ He never thought he would feel this way about anyone_._ But she had changed all of that_._ She made him the happiest man alive when she accepted his ring_._ Now_,_ if the world never appreciated his music_,_ it wouldn_'_t matter_._ Nothing would matter_,_ as long as he had her_._ She was the only reason he even got up in the morning_.

_She was his true angel_…

XxXxX

The Phantom gasped for breath as he snapped back to reality. His heart was racing, as though he had just run a marathon.

"_What the Hell was that_?"

The Phantom looked out once more at the beautiful girl, still sitting on the couch, as she finished her song.

"**_You alone can make my song take flight_… _You alone are the Music of my Life_…**"

Her voice was beautiful. Perhaps not as beautiful as Christine's, but still…

Margaret sighed sadly and curled up on the divan. He could see that she was fighting the urge to fall asleep. Her eyelids flickered open and shut a few times. She finally gave a long sigh and her eyes closed. Her breathing fell into a deep and steady rhythm. She was asleep.

She looked so beautiful when she slept. The Phantom found himself resisting the overwhelming urge to open the mirror and go to her… touch her… hold her… In his dreams she would smile at him and kiss him without a trace of fright. But what would happen if she were to wake and see him there? He highly doubted that words of love and tender caresses would be in store for him if such a thing were to happen.

He forced himself away from the mirror and retreated back to his dark kingdom. He had to get a hold of himself before things _really_ got out of hand…

XxXxX

"Margaret? Margaret! Wake up!"

Margaret slowly opened her eyes. She looked up to see her brother looking down at her with concerned eyes.

"Raoul?" It took a moment for her to remember where she was. She suddenly remembered seeing LaForte in the halls and ducking into the diva's dressing room to avoid being seen. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but she was so tired.

"You weren't in your room… I've been looking all over for you! I… I was afraid that…" he trailed off.

"It's alright, Raoul," Margaret said as she sat up. "I'm fine."

"What are you doing in here, Margaret?"

Margaret looked at the floor. "I was returning to my room last night, but… I saw Monsieur LaForte in the halls, heading my way. I was alone, and I was afraid of what he might do with no one else around… So I hid in here. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

Raoul sighed. "Monsieur LaForte isn't my favourite human being, but I believe he is still a gentleman… I don't think he would ever physically harm you." Raoul sat down beside her. "Besides, I told him that he is not to speak to you again."

"_Little you know that he has been disobeying you_," Margaret thought.

"You would tell me if that man – or anyone for that matter – was bothering you, wouldn't you?" Raoul asked.

"Of course," she lied.

Raoul smiled. "Good. Now let's get you back to your own room. La Rosa can be quite irritable and she probably won't appreciate finding us in her dressing room."

Raoul helped Margaret stand up from the couch and led her through the corridors to her room. They walked in silence for some time.

"Raoul?"

"Hmm?"

Margaret hesitated. "Will you tell me about… about the Phantom again?"

Raoul froze in his tracks. An unreadable emotion filled his eyes.

"Why would you care to hear about him?" Raoul whispered.

Margaret's mind raced and she thought up a quick lie. "Well… I've heard so many stories and rumours since we came here. Some of the things I've heard described are so different from what you told me last year… I'd just like to know what really happened."

Raoul sighed as he continued walking again. "There are some things should probably remain ignorant of, Margaret… It was a terrible ordeal… a nightmare… That man still haunts my worst dreams, and not a day passes when I don't think of what could have happened…"

"You're my brother, Raoul," Margaret said. "If you can't share your burdens with me, then who can you share them with?"

Raoul sighed. "I suppose you're right… Very well… Christine was about seven when her father died. He had promised her that he would send her the Angel of Music to protect her. Madame Giry brought her here to the opera house to live and train with the Corps du Ballet. She was a wonderful dancer… and a magnificent singer…"

Margaret wished he would hurry up and get the part with Christine over with… It was the Phantom she wanted to hear about…

"Anyways," Raoul continued, "Christine prayed to her father every night for years to send her the Angel of Music. But the Angel never came. But on the night of her thirteenth birthday, a voice answered her prayers."

"The Phantom?"

"Yes. He had been listening to her sing and pray to her father. He fell in love with her voice. When he heard her praying for the Angel of Music, he saw and took his opportunity. He led Christine to believe that _he_ was the Angel she had waited so long for. He became her singing coach, and within three short years he had Christine singing the leading roles in all of the operas. Everyone loved her."

"And then…?"

"Well… Then I became the patron of this theatre and I remembered Christine as the little girl we used to play with. Christine had learned that her angel was nothing more than a man, and she sought comfort from me. We fell in love and got engaged. When the Phantom learned of this, he went mad with jealousy. He wrote an opera and demanded that the theatre perform it, with Christine in the leading role. His orders were obeyed… because we saw it as a golden opportunity to catch him. We knew that if Christine sang, he was certain to be there. So on the opening night, the theatre was filled with armed policemen. The doors were barred and the entire place was locked down."

"What happened?"

"Well… When the curtain went up, the Phantom kidnapped Christine. Madame Giry helped me find his lair. When I got there… well… I let my guard down… He caught me with his Punjab lasso, and tried to make Christine choose between him and me. Naturally, if she had chosen me he would have killed me and held her captive anyway. Christine was not only willing to stay with him… she showed him the only compassion he had ever known. She kissed him."

"What did he do?"

"I suppose he realized what a cruel thing he was doing to try and force the woman he supposedly loved into an eternity of darkness with him. So he let us both go. We got out of there on his boat and no one has seen him or heard from him since."

Margaret bit her lip. "Do you remember what his face looked like?"

Raoul shuddered. "I could never forget the sight."

"Could you describe it?"

"Well… The left side was as normal as can be. But the other side… well… he had no hair on that side… not even an eyebrow… his eyelid was quite mangled… his nose was collapsed in upon itself… the skin was red and raw… It almost looked like… a scar, or… or a burn…"

Margaret recalled the night of the fire… how the right side of Erik's face had been severely burned… his hair and eyebrow singed off… In her nightmares, he looked just as Raoul had described the Phantom.

"Don't you worry yourself about that man," Raoul told her. "He's long gone now… He'll never bother us again…"

Margaret swallowed. "_No_,_ Raoul_…_ He_'_s closer than you think_…"

XxXxX

It felt like a war was raging within the Phantom's mind. Everything he thought he knew about himself was coming unravelled. The last four years were foggy. Disjointed pictures and fragmented memories haunted his dreams – nothing to help him remember his past life; just little clips which, out of context, only served to confuse him further.

Every time he thought he was closer to remembering, more questions came up. He felt as though he were plunging into madness, and there was nothing he could do to halt his descent.

Who was this Margaret? Why did she affect him? How did she know his song? Why were the words so different? Who was this Erik? Why was _he_ suddenly haunting him? What did it all mean?

"I need answers," he whispered. "I need to know more about this Erik Destler…"


	10. Save me, Erik!

**_10. Save Me, Erik!_**

Margaret lay half-asleep in bed. Her nights were lonely now, for Meg no longer shared her room. Things were going back to the way they used to be, when she first came to the opera house.

She wondered if that was such a good thing…

She had been trying to spend more and more time with her brother and Christine, simply because LaForte left her alone when she was with them. It seemed to be working… but she wondered how long it would be before he finally caught her alone, and what would happen to her then…

XxXxX

The Phantom stared down at Margaret's dozing form from a crack in the trapdoor of her ceiling. Since Little Giry had moved out of Margaret's room, he took it upon himself to watch over her.

He didn't understand why he was so captivated by her… but he couldn't stop himself from watching her through the night, resisting the urge to lay beside her sleeping body and… hold her…

He fantasized about one day revealing himself to her… perhaps she would grow to love him… But cruel reality reminded him that he could never have her, every time he looked in mirror… She could never want to be with him…

Only in his dreams…

XxXxX

Margaret was in a state halfway between consciousness and sleep. She thought she heard the sound of her door creaking open and softly shutting… a weight on her bed… a hand reaching out to caress her side…

She imagined that it was Erik… she sighed softly as he ran his hand from just under her arm all the way down to her hip…

She snapped awake when another hand roughly shoved a piece of cloth inside her mouth.

Margaret's eyes flew wide and she turned to look at her attacker. Her heart nearly stopped dead when she saw the face of Dominique LaForte leering down at her.

"Let's get one thing straight, slut," he said as he straddled her. Margaret was frightened by the malicious tone in his voice. "I'm no idiot… I know your game, you little tease… I was content to play the honourable gentleman and get you into my bed the old-fashioned way, but alas I grow impatient with you… So here's how it's going to work…" One of his hands slid her nightgown up her leg, baring her thigh. "I'm going to make passionate love to you, and you're going to enjoy every minute of it… When I get tired, I am going to leave you and you are not going to tell anyone what happened… No, not even brother dearest… If I like it, I'll be back again… And if you get pregnant, you will have no choice but to marry me… And, unlike Destler, I'll give you everything your heart desires…"

Margaret felt anger flare in her chest. How dare he mention Erik? She screamed profanities at him, but her words were muffled by the gag. LaForte laughed.

"So you're a screamer? Good." He reached down to pull her nightgown over her head. Margaret started kicking and throwing her small fists at him… Anything to get him off of her!

"Stop that, whore!" he growled, backhanding her hard across the face.

Margaret's head hit the headboard, sending her into a daze… She almost lost consciousness, and barely noticed the black shape that seemed to materialize behind LaForte.

XxXxX

The Phantom had never experienced such rage. How dare this man touch her? He threw open the trapdoor and jumped down into the room, landing without a sound. LaForte was too busy fighting with Margaret to notice his presence.

Then he hit her…

The Phantom saw red.

Growling like a beast, the Phantom grabbed LaForte by the hair and threw him off of Margaret. The man let out a cry of alarm. He turned to face his assailant, but a punch to the stomach knocked the wind out of him and he doubled over.

Snarling, the Phantom slammed his fist into LaForte's face, knocking him off his feet. LaForte found himself lying flat on his back. Before he could get up, the Phantom was on top of him, pinning him to the floor with one knee pressed into his stomach.

The Phantom slammed his fists into LaForte's face over and over. He tried to fight back, getting in a few blows of his own, but the Phantom was much larger and stronger than he. LaForte couldn't even see his attacker through the darkness and the blood that was dripping down his face, into his eyes, blinding him.

The Phantom wanted to kill the man right then and there, but a soft sound reached his ears. He turned to see Margaret still laying on her bed, curled up into a ball, eyes squeezed shut, and sobbing violently into her pillows.

The Phantom punched LaForte in the side of the head, hard, sending the man into a daze. He got up and dragged LaForte to his feet. He opened Margaret's door and tossed LaForte outside, as though he were dumping the contents of a chamber pot.

When LaForte's head cleared, he staggered to his feet and looked back at Margaret's door.

"_Who on earth was that_?"

He decided he didn't want to linger and find out.

XxXxX

The Phantom looked back at Margaret's weeping form. He should have left then. He should have returned to his post and not bothered the girl.

But he couldn't help himself. He approached the bed cautiously and looked her over, making sure that that sick pervert hadn't caused any serious harm. There was an ugly bruise on her cheek from where he had hit her. But she would be able to cover it with make-up.

Margaret's heart rate sped up when she felt a weight on the bed again. She curled up tighter.

"No…" she whimpered, too frightened to move. "Please… don't… don't hurt me… please…"

The figure on the bed did not attack her, as she expected him to. She felt fingers brush her cheek, softer than a butterfly's touch. His touch was almost hesitant, as though he wasn't exactly sure of what he should do. He wasn't rough or demanding, like LaForte was.

She felt his hand move lower and she tensed. He grasped the hem of her nightgown, which was riding up around her hips, and she prepared herself for the worst. But instead of divesting her of the garment, as was LaForte's intention, he merely pulled it back down, offering her some modicum of decency.

Margaret felt herself panic again when the stranger began pulling her into his arms. "Please!" she whimpered. "Please, I don't want to! Erik! Save me, Erik!"

"Hush… I won't hurt you…"

His soft voice instantly quieted her. "Erik?" She tried to look up at his face, but it was impossible to see through the dark and with tears blurring her vision. She lay limply in his arms, just wanting to be comforted. He held her close and rocked her like a baby. He whispered to her with Erik's voice… She imagined what Erik would say, if he were there… He would have comforted her like this…

"_I love you_,_ Margaret_…"

"It's alright… You're safe, now…"

"_He won_'_t hurt you_…"

"I won't hurt you…"

"_You_'_re safe_…"

"I won't let anyone hurt you… I promise…"

Margaret felt herself relax and she snuggled closer to her saviour, burying her face into his chest. "Erik…"

The Phantom tensed when she moved closer to him. No one had ever looked to him for comfort before. But he found that he liked the close proximity. He held his breath as he tightened his grip, pulling her just a bit closer. Margaret did not protest.

"Erik…" How could one word hold so much sorrow?

She was calling him Erik again. He didn't want to be deceptive – not after his experience with Christine – but this girl really needed someone to love her right now…

"Yes, Margaret," the Phantom murmured. "I'm here… Your Erik is here…"

"Don't leave me…"

"I won't… I'll stay… I promise…"

"I love you, Erik…"

"I… l-love you, too… Margaret…"

"Sing to me, Erik?"

"Of course…"

There were many old, familiar tunes and lullabies he could have sung for her… But the Phantom suddenly had a burst of inspiration and began singing something entirely new… entirely his…

"**_There were nights when the wind was so cold that my body froze in bed if I just listened to it_, _right outside the window_… _There were days when the sun was so cruel that all the tears turned to dust_, _and I just knew my eyes were drying up forever_…**"

He had never thought up an entire verse so quickly! And Margaret seemed to like the song. Encouraged, he continued…

"**_I finished crying in the instant that you left_. _And I can_'_t remember where or when or how_… _And I banished every memory_…**"

The inspiration was suddenly cut short. He couldn't think of the next line for this song.

"Don't worry, Erik," Margaret murmured, seeming to sense his despair. She was almost asleep. "You'll finish it someday…"

The Phantom stroked her hair and her face, loving how soft her skin felt under his calloused hands. He lowered his head and softly inhaled. She had a lovely fragrance about her… like roses…

The Phantom was unaware of how much time had passed before Margaret finally dozed off. Gently, so as not to wake her, he laid her on her bed and pulled the covers over her.

"Sleep well, angel," he murmured.

Without a sound, he hoisted himself back up through the trapdoor in the ceiling. Slipping away, he began making his way back to his home.

"I have some _business_ issues to take care of…"

XxXxX

"Margaret? Margaret, wake up!"

Margaret shook the fog from her head and looked to the doorway, where Christine was standing.

"Let's go!" Christine cried. "You and Raoul and I were going to go for brunch this morning, remember? Hurry, you must get ready! And – oh!"

Margaret was surprised by the shocked expression that suddenly appeared on Christine's face.

"What is it?" Margaret asked.

"Margaret… your cheek!"

Margaret raised a hand to her cheek and winced at the pain. A bruise! The memories of the previous night came flooding back.

Dominique LaForte had tried to rape her!

But then… someone saved her…

"Margaret, what happened?" Christine demanded. "Who did that to you?"

Margaret panicked. What would LaForte do to her if she told Raoul? He had warned her not to… and judging by what he had intended to do last night, it appeared that not much was beneath him. He might even hurt Raoul or Christine if she told anyone!

"It… it's nothing, Christine," Margaret lied. "I… I tripped and fell against a doorknob…"

"A doorknob?" Christine repeated dubiously.

"Yes… Oh, I'm such a klutz… I tripped over my skirts… It was stupid, really…"

"Are you sure?" Christine asked, still looking unconvinced. "It seems kind of… well… _big_ for a doorknob… It looks more like… someone's fist…"

"That's ridiculous!" Margaret retorted. "Why, you don't think I'd lie to you and Raoul if someone had hurt me, do you?"

Christine slowly smiled. "I guess not… Cover it with a little make-up, and no one will know the difference!"

"I'm sure you're right… Thank you, Christine… I'll be ready in a minute…"

XxXxX

"Margaret," Raoul said as his sister joined him and Christine in the Populaire's lobby. "How good of you to join us."

"Sorry, I'm late," Margaret murmured. "I'm ready now."

"Good," Raoul said. "Let's go then. The carriage is waiting."

The trio was just about to walk through the front doors when Andre and Firmin burst into the lobby.

"Vicomte! Vicomte!" Andre cried.

"Vicomte! Wait!" Firmin panted as he ran over to where Raoul, Christine and Margaret stood.

"Messieurs, what is all this?" Raoul asked.

"We didn't know who to turn to," Firmin said, gasping for breath. "We had no choice but to come to you."

"What is it?" Raoul demanded. "In Heaven's name, tell me!"

Firmin held up a shaky hand, which held an envelope. Raoul took it from him and turned it over.

Raoul and Christine gasped in unison at the ugly red skull seal that grinned at them.

"No," Raoul whispered. "Not again… This can't be happening again!"

"I don't believe it," Christine whispered. "He… He's back!"

"Who's back?" Margaret asked. "What is all this?"

"Margaret," Raoul said, forcing calm into his voice. "This is the seal of the Phantom of the Opera…"

A hand flew to Margaret's mouth. This couldn't be happening!

Raoul broke the seal and pulled the note from the envelope with shaky fingers.

"Gentlemen," Raoul read. "I offer you my fondest greetings… Have you missed me? Or did you really think that I was gone for good? Allow me to enlighten you, Messieurs, that I never left this opera house. I have watched you destroy my theatre over the past year by casting mediocre singers and performers. I see your taste in divas has not changed. I feel that I have been more than patient, and now it is time for you to let _me_ advise you on whom to cast… But we shall discuss that later… At the moment, there are other problems of greater concern…"

Margaret shivered as she listened to Raoul read. This Phantom had a way of intimidating people, even in writing!

"Monsieur Dominique LaForte is truly a wolf in sheep's clothing…"

"He's one to talk!" Andre scoffed.

"The man is a threat," Raoul continued to read. "He behaves as a perfect gentleman when the occasion calls for it… But in reality, he is a sick, deceiving, cunning little devil… Believe me when I say that he is dangerous. Yes, you may laugh at me having the gall to accuse another man of being dangerous… But expect more than a 'disaster beyond your imagination' should you not heed my warning…"

"He's a madman!" Firmin cried. "We can't allow him to intimidate us like this!"

"There's more," Raoul said. His returned to the note. "One more thing… Tell the–" Raoul stopped short. His eyes continued to read the page. His face twisted in anger and his hand tightened on the note, crumpling it a bit.

"What is it, Raoul?" Christine asked as she took the note from him, smoothing it out. She read the final part.

"One more thing… Tell the Vicomte de Chagny that, if he values his sister as much as believes he does, he will bar Monsieur LaForte from the theatre and have Mademoiselle de Chagny guarded at all times. The man cannot be trusted near the girl… Miss de Chagny no doubt informed her brother of his assault on her last night, and I expect that the Vicomte will take the proper actions… Rape is something that I simply will not tolerate in my theatre. Miss de Chagny may thank the Heavens that an Angel was guarding her last night…

"Heed my warnings… I remain ever, gentlemen, your obedient servant… O.G."

Margaret swallowed hard and turned to glance at Raoul. His entire body looked tense, and he was trembling in anger.

"What is the meaning of this, Margaret?" Raoul asked, his voice deathly quiet.

Margaret remembered someone throwing LaForte off of her the previous night. Then he had taken her into his arms, whispered to her with Erik's voice… sang Erik's song… If the Phantom knew of the assault last night, then that meant that it must have been the Phantom who came to her aid.

"_I_'_m here_…_ Your Erik is here_…"

Then the Phantom _was_ Erik!

Shock was quickly replaced by anger… How could Erik deceive her like this? Was she such an idiot that she did not see this side of him – that he was capable of lies and murder – while all along he fooled her into thinking that he truly did love her?

What kind of sick game was he playing? What on earth did he gain by stealing her heart and then leaving her broken and alone?

"Dammit, Margaret!" Raoul shouted, breaking into her thoughts. "Answer me!" He brought his face within an inch of hers.

"Answer me now," he said through gritted teeth. "What is the meaning of this?"


	11. Return of the Opera Ghost

**_11. Return of the Opera Ghost_**

"Well?" Raoul hissed.

Margaret sighed. "It's true, Raoul… Monsieur LaForte tried to rape me last night…"

"The bastard!" Raoul shouted.

"Wait, Raoul," Margaret said. "There's more… Monsieur LaForte didn't get a chance to… do that… The Phantom saved me…"

"_What_?" Raoul cried. "You saw the Phantom and didn't _tell me_?"

"I wasn't sure it was him!" Margaret insisted. "Not until… the note…"

"That bruise on your cheek," Christine said. "You didn't trip, did you? Monsieur LaForte gave it you, didn't he?"

"What are we going to do?" Raoul asked as he began to pace. "My sister isn't even safe in her own room, and now that bloody Phantom has returned! We're going to have to leave again!"

"Raoul, we can't!" Margaret cried.

"Why not, Margaret?" Raoul asked, turning on her. "You're not safe here… None of us are safe here! You were attacked! Why on earth do you want to stay?"

Margaret could offer no answer. But she knew that if Erik truly was the Phantom, she couldn't leave until she confronted him.

But there was a small chance that she was wrong, wasn't there?

The Phantom had pretended to be the Angel of Music to get close to Christine… Pretending to be Margaret's dead lover probably wasn't beyond him… But why would he do that? Why was he trying to get to her?

The answer suddenly hit her like a load of bricks…

Christine!

That had to be it. The Phantom was trying to get close to her, because the closer he was to her, the closer he was to Christine.

Margaret felt anger boil in her chest. How dare that man pretend to be someone she had loved so deeply just to get to another woman! She had never felt such righteous indignation before… She had never felt so used!

And she would not let herself return to the possibility that her beloved Erik was, in fact, the Phantom. A small part of her knew that she was simply denying the fact because the thought of her Erik being such an evil man was enough to tear her apart. But she couldn't allow herself to even consider the possibility.

Margaret sighed, about to give in to Raoul, when Christine spoke up.

"I think she's right, Raoul… Perhaps we should stay…"

Raoul turned on her. "_What_? Are you both mad? Let us not forget who we're dealing with here!"

"Raoul, you read the note," Christine pointed out. "He said he never left… And all these months we didn't even have a clue! Surely, if he meant any of us any harm, he would have already struck out against us… But he hasn't. Perhaps he has changed…"

"Men like him will never change!" Raoul snapped. "I won't play his servant while he walks around doing whatever he wishes!"

"Personally, I think that if he wants to tell the managers who to cast, then perhaps we should listen to him… I trust his judgement more than anyone else's when it comes to the Arts…"

"And if he demands a salary again?"

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it… Surely we could negotiate something with him…"

"Negotiate with a killer!" Raoul scoffed. "What's in your head?"

"Like it or not, Raoul, the Phantom saved Margaret's life last night! If there is anyone in this theatre we should fear, it certainly is not him! In a way, we're in his debt…"

Raoul sighed. Christine certainly had a point… But how would he be able to sleep at night knowing that his greatest enemy still roamed the shadows?

"Very well," Raoul muttered. "We will stay… And I will allow him to _advise_ the managers on whom they should cast… But mark my words, if those backdrops so much as flutter during a performance, I will have the police tear this opera apart… and I _will_ see him convicted!"

"I'm sure we won't have anything to worry about," Christine replied.

Raoul turned to Andre and Firmin. "Write a letter and leave it in Box Five… Tell the Phantom that we are willing to take him on as an advisor, and that we will pay him a salary of seven hundred francs a month, payable on the first Saturday of each month… We will even reserve Box Five for him if that is what he desires… But make sure that you make it clear to him that we will not tolerate any harassment!"

"And Monsieur LaForte?" Firmin asked tentatively.

"Indeed," Raoul muttered. "Bring in the gendarmes and have them posted at the main entrance… If LaForte so much as puts one toe inside the door, see to it that he is arrested and charged for assault…"

XxXxX

It had been three days, and things were worse at the theatre than ever before. Raoul was constantly on edge, stressed over the return of the Phantom. Margaret was beginning to wonder if staying was such a good idea…

Raoul had become extremely overprotective of her, not letting her out of his sight for even an instant. At night, an armed police officer sat by her door. Gendarmes stood by the main entrance of the Populaire, just waiting for LaForte to show his face… So far, he hadn't…

Margaret felt so alone… She wished Erik were with her… He would have made everything better…

The more Margaret thought about the Phantom, the more she convinced herself that he couldn't possibly be Erik. The Phantom was as different from Erik as the moon was from the sun… She was stupid for even daring to hope that Erik was the Phantom, still alive, waiting for her to return to him.

It just wasn't possible. After all… she had watched him die…

"Margaret?" Christine broke into her thoughts. "Are you alright?"

Margaret blushed, aware that she had probably been tuning out an entire conversation. Christine had invited Margaret and Meg and Madame Giry to her suite for tea. Raoul was not there at the moment, and Margaret had an idea why. She figured Raoul had probably convinced the ladies to get Margaret to sit down and talk about the attempted rape. He knew that she was in a fragile state of mind, and that perhaps talking about it would be good for her.

But Margaret didn't want to talk about what that filthy worm nearly did. As it was, she was still furious that Andre and Firmin still wanted to show his damned opera after all that had happened. Wasn't justice more important than profits?

How humiliating it was… to come within a hair's breadth of being violated by a sick, demented man, only to be saved by someone nearly as bad!

"I'm sorry for not paying attention," Margaret sighed. "It's just that… there's so much in my head…"

Meg took her hand. "You are a beautiful, wonderful girl… You're the kind of person everyone wants to be like… We were just saying that not everyone will treat you as badly as Monsieur LaForte did… There are so many good men out there!"

The image of Erik popped into her mind. "Yes… I know there is…"

"Would you like some more tea?" Christine asked, noticing her empty cup.

"I'll get it," Margaret said as she stood up and walked over to the small kitchenette. She poured herself some tea and added some cream and sugar. As she stirred it, she didn't realize that she had started humming.

"Oh, that's the pretty song from your music box!" Meg exclaimed.

Christine turned to look at Meg. She had a disturbed expression on her face. "Her… music box?"

"Why, yes!" Meg smiled. "The one that…" She stopped and flushed red, realizing that she was wandering dangerously close to sensitive subject matter.

Margaret sighed as she returned to the table with the other woman. "It is the song from the music box that Erik made for me…"

"Oh…" Christine said softly. "Uh… where did he hear that song?"

"He didn't hear it from anywhere… He was a composer… He wrote it…"

"Are… are you sure? He didn't hear it from… someone else?"

"Of course not!" Margaret replied angrily. "That song was special! It was _our_ song! He wrote it for the night that he proposed to me!"

"I'm sorry, Margaret," Christine backed down.

Margaret sighed. "I'm sorry… I've just been very edgy lately…"

"It is understandable," Madame Giry said with sympathy.

Christine said nothing for a while, lost in her own thoughts. How could this Erik Destler know the Phantom's _Music of the Night_ more than four years before the Phantom wrote the music? She had heard the saying that great minds think alike, but this was ridiculous!

"That reminds me," Madame Giry said. "I brought that picture of Monsieur Destler with me. I am finished with it." She reached into her purse and produced the portrait.

"Thank you," Margaret said. As she reached out to take the portrait back, her eyes searched Madame Giry's… silently pleading for an answer…

Madame Giry shook her head ever so slightly…

Margaret expected relief to flood her soul. Finally, here was the proof that her earlier suspicions had all been unfounded… But she didn't feel anything… She felt dead…

"Is that… Monsieur Erik?" Meg asked tentatively. She bit her lip, looking meek. "May… may I see him?"

"Certainly…" Margaret handed Meg the portrait. Christine stood to look over her friend's shoulder. She had never seen this portrait of Erik, and she had to admit that she was curious to see the face of the man that still haunted her sister-in-law's dreams.

"Oh, my!" Meg cried. "How handsome!"

Christine's eyes widened. "_This_ is Erik?"

"Yes… He painted the miniature himself…"

Christine's heart felt like it was racing a mile a minute. Her hands began to tremble.

Other than the fact that his face was without blemish, Erik Destler could have been the Phantom's identical twin! The likeness was uncanny! If the Phantom turned his head to the side, Christine was certain that even Margaret might mistake him for her Erik!

Christine began doing the math in her head. She remembered how her Angel of Music, the Phantom, had answered her on her thirteenth birthday… Not long after that, chaos struck the Opera Populaire as a frightening ghost began wrecking havoc on the theatre and its patrons. It all began around the same time that Erik Destler died.

How strange it was indeed… Erik died… and then the Phantom appeared…

Christine suddenly felt as though she had swallowed a stone. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

Had Margaret's soul mate been an Angel of Music all along?


	12. Don't Be Afraid

**_12. Don_'_t Be Afraid_**

"Madame Giry?"

Madame Giry turned to see Christine standing behind her in the corridor.

"Yes, my child?"

"I need to talk to you…" Even though they were alone in the hall, she spoke in hushed tones.

"Of course, my dear…"

Christine swallowed hard before continuing. "Why did you have that portrait of Erik Destler?"

Madame Giry looked uncomfortable. "Margaret lent it to me."

"And in the time that it was in your possession… Did that face strike you as familiar?"

Madame Giry sighed. "So you saw it too?"

"I cannot believe the likeness," Christine whispered. "It… he looked… just like _him_!"

"Margaret had her suspicions for a long time… That's why she gave me the portrait… She wanted me to tell her if it was possible…"

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her that it wasn't him."

"Why?"

"Because… I suppose I didn't want to get her hopes up…"

"Do you remember that song she was humming this morning?"

"What about it?"

"_He_ used to sing that song to me!"

Madame Giry gasped. "You're sure?"

"Of course I am sure! But Margaret swears that Erik composed that song for their engagement…"

Madame Giry was quiet for a long time. "I am worried, Christine… I am very worried…"

"I know… so am I…"

"We can't just stand back and do nothing… Margaret has the right to know…"

"But how will she handle such news?"

"I don't know, Christine… I just don't know…"

XxXxX

The Phantom pounded away furiously on his organ.

Seven hundred francs a month!

What a ridiculous offer… That was a mere fraction of his original salary! How did they think they could insult him with such a small salary after everything he had done for them?

It would serve them right if he sabotaged that new chandelier of theirs and burned the Opera Populaire to the ground again!

The Phantom shut his eyes and allowed himself to flow with the music. It was so calming… All of his troubles disappeared when he wrote his music.

"**_There were nights when the wind was so cold that my body froze in bed if I just listened to it_, _right outside the window_…**"

Margaret… the poor child… she had been through so much…

"**_There were days when the sun was so cruel that all the tears turned to dust_, _and I just knew my eyes were drying up forever_…**"

Her sadness made his own troubles seem so insignificant…

"**_I finished crying in the instant that you left_…**"

He felt badly for lying to her… He just wanted to comfort her, but now he was afraid that he only made things worse…

"**_And I can_'_t remember where or when or how_…**"

There had to be a way to make this right… He couldn't continue to deceive her… He couldn't make the same mistakes with her as he had with Christine…

"**_And I banished every memory_**…"**  
**The Phantom trailed off… This song had come so quickly to him! Why could he not continue it?

"…**_I can_'_t remember where or when or how_…_ And I banished every memory_…**"

Curse it all, why wouldn't this song work?

"…**_I banished every memory_…**"

The Phantom stood up from his organ bench and began to pace. His mind eventually wandered from the song he was working on and back to Margaret.

"_There has to be a way for me to fix this_…_ I want to do right by her_,_ but how_?"

If he was going to gain her trust, he would have to start by being completely honest. He would have to admit to the truth of who and what he was, and pray to God that she wouldn't reject him…

XxXxX

"Here we are, Miss," the gendarme said as he opened the door to Margaret's bedroom for her.

"Thank you, Monsieur," she said as she stepped inside. The guard nodded to her and turned to stand at his post.

Margaret sat at her vanity as she took the pins out of her hair and began running a brush through her golden tresses. Raoul seemed to have loosened up a bit and had decided to take his wife and sister out to dinner. She had an hour to freshen up before the carriage arrived.

The hand that held the brush abruptly stilled its motion when something sitting on her vanity caught her eye. It was a rose… At first Margaret thought that it might be a small token from her brother to make up for his foul moods lately, but then she caught sight of the black ribbon on its stem.

Margaret remembered the stories Christine had told her… That was a signature of the Phantom!

Margaret's fears were confirmed when she saw the envelope that rested against the rose. It had the Phantom's red skull seal.

"_What do you want from me_?" she asked silently.

The red skull merely grinned at her, offering her no answer to her unspoken question.

"_I should tell Raoul_," she thought. Her brother had had enough trouble simply because she kept on keeping secrets from him. He would be very upset to know that the Phantom had contacted her and she didn't tell him about it.

"_I_'_m not a baby_!_ I don_'_t need him handling all of my problems_._ This is a letter to **me**_!_ Frankly_,_ if that Phantom thinks he can pull the wool over my eyes_,_ I_'_m going to feed him a piece of my mind_!_ And I hope he chokes on it_!"

With such thoughts, Margaret boldly tore open the envelope and pulled out the note. As she did so, she nearly dropped the parchment.

There, in red ink, she saw _Erik_'_s_ handwriting!

"_What is this_?" Margaret thought, trembling. "_How is he doing this_?_ **Why** is he doing this_?"

With shaky hands, she began to read…

_Miss de Chagny_,

_I hope that this note finds you in good health_._ I had been worried that the assault a few nights ago may have caused you even more emotional grief_,_ but it appears that you are a strong woman and have been handling the situation well_.

_If there is any doubt left in your mind_,_ allow me to confirm that it was indeed I who came to your aid that night_._ It is true_…_ I am not your Erik_,_ and I am sorry I lied to you_…_ My only thought at the time was to comfort you_,_ but I fear that I may instead have caused you more pain_. _Please forgive me_…

_I will not make the same mistakes with you as I did with Christine_…_ Believe me when I say that I don_'_t want to hurt you_._ Believe it or not_,_ since you came to the Opera Populaire_,_ it has been my desire to protect you from men like LaForte_…_ from those who would bring you to harm_…

_You are an intriguing young woman_…_ You interest me very much_…_ You needn_'_t fear me_,_ Miss de Chagny_._ As long as you remain under the roof of the Populaire_,_ I will see to it that no harm ever befalls you_.

_I trust that we will meet again soon_.

_Your obedient servant and Angel_,

_O_._G_.

There was a sudden knock at her door. "Margaret?" Raoul's voice called.

Margaret hastily folded up the note and shoved it into her pocket.

XxXxX

Margaret was quiet as Raoul and Christine carried on a conversation over dinner. The note from the Opera Ghost was like a heavy weight in her pocket.

The handwriting belonged to Erik… But the note had come from the Phantom…

How could it be? In the letter, he was open and honest. He admitted to his lie. He said he had just wanted to comfort her. He said he wanted to protect her.

But could she believe him? Could she trust him? Or was this all a part of his ploy to get closer to Christine?

After dinner, the carriage returned Raoul, Christine, and Margaret to the Populaire. Raoul escorted her to her room and, after ensuring that a guard was posted at the door, left her to her privacy.

When she was alone again, Margaret pulled the note out of her pocket and studied it. The writing certainly looked like Erik's, but perhaps there were some inconsistencies? There must be some differences that could prove that the note had not been written by Erik's hand.

Margaret pulled out Erik's strong box and retrieved the unfinished opera. There was a piece of parchment at the back with some rough notes that Erik had jotted down for himself. She had always hated his handwriting, which was messy and scribbled … Margaret swore that he must never have learned to properly form his letters. The Phantom's writing was very similar. But she was going to prove that it meant nothing at all.

Margaret took Erik's page of rough notes and laid it before herself on the floor where she knelt. She placed the Phantom's note beside it and began to compare the two writings.

"_I hope that this note finds you in good health_…" the Phantom's note read.

"_I hope that this writer_'_s block is only temporary_… _I cannot stand it any longer_…" Erik had written.

Margaret's heart began to sink when she saw that the key words and letters were nearly identical… There was no noticeable difference…

Determined to get to the bottom of the situation, Margaret read on…

"_My only thought at the time was to comfort you_…"

"_It is taking such a long time_…_ I thought that my opera would be finished long before now_…"

Everything – from the short crosses on his t's to the long tails on his g's to the large arches on his f's – were identical in the two writings.

"_I will not make the same mistakes with you as I did with Christine_…"

"_There must be a mistake in the music_'_s key_…_ I play the same verse over and over_,_ but it still sounds wrong_…"

It was impossible to find any difference!

"_You are an intriguing young woman_…_ You interest me very much_…"

"_The plot may be intriguing_,_ but I am afraid that potential buyers will not be very interested in the quality of the music_…"

Margaret scanned the page frantically. "_No_,_ no_,_ no_,_ no_…"

"_Your obedient servant and Angel_…"

"_I will not fail my Angel_…_ Oh God_,_ my Margaret_…"

Margaret grabbed up the papers and placed them on her vanity. Then she began to pace. There had to be a perfectly logical explanation for this… There _had_ to be! Erik was dead and could not have written this note! There had to be something else going on here!

There was a light knocking on her door. "Come in!" Margaret called.

The door opened and Christine stepped into the room, followed by Madame Giry. Margaret instantly knew that something was wrong when she saw the grim looks on their faces.

"What is it?" Margaret asked. "What's wrong?" A list of possible scenarios began running through her mind. Had LaForte returned? Had something happened to Raoul?

"Margaret," Madame Giry said softly as she shut the door behind her. "There is something of great importance that Christine and I must speak with you about…"

"What is it?" Margaret asked.

Madame Giry glanced at Christine, who gulped and stepped forward. "Margaret… You know that song from your music box? The one you were humming this morning? The one that… Erik wrote for you?"

"Yes…"

"I… I know that song… I've heard it before… many times… Someone used to sing that song to me a lot… when I was sad, or lonely, or scared… He said that he wrote it for me…"

"That's impossible!" Margaret cried. "That song belonged to Erik and me! It was _ours_!"

"I believe you, Margaret," Christine whispered. "It's just… the man who sang that song to me… was the Phantom of the Opera…"

"What?" Margaret gasped.

"Margaret," Madame Giry began. "You know that portrait of Erik that you showed to me?"

"Yes…" Margaret answered weakly.

"I told you that there was no similarity between your Erik and the Phantom… I told you that it was not him… But I lied to you…"

"No…" Margaret whimpered.

"The face in the portrait," Madame Giry continued softly. "It was… almost identical to the Phantom's…"

"So… so what are you saying?" Margaret demanded.

"Margaret," Madame Giry moved forward and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "I didn't want to cause you more grief… So I lied about what I saw… You say Erik died in a fire, did you not?"

"Yes…"

"When I found the Phantom, his face was severely burnt and he was covered in ash… I saved his life and brought him here… There is no doubt in my mind that he had been in a fire before I found him…"

"So… you… you're both trying to tell me that… that the man I love is… some kind of madman? That he left me for some daring lifestyle down in the opera cellars? That he's a murderer and a criminal? You're trying to tell me that my Erik is the _Phantom_?"

"Margaret, I know it sounds crazy," Christine said in an attempt to calm the trembling girl. "But you have to believe us–"

"No! No! No!" Margaret cried. "It can't be!"

"Margaret, you have to understand," Madame Giry began. "When I found the Phantom, he told me that he couldn't re–"

"No!" Margaret continued to cry. "Why? _Why_?"

"Please, listen to me!" Madame Giry tried to calm her. "He has absolutely no recol–"

"How could he _do_ this to me?" Margaret screamed as she pushed past the other two women and bolted out the door.

"Miss de Chagny!" the gendarme at the door cried out when he saw the woman he was supposed to be protecting flee the room. He ran after her.

"Oh, no…" Madame Giry moaned as she sank onto the edge of Margaret's bed.

"Well… at… at least she knows now…" Christine said, trying hard to be optimistic.

"We shouldn't have said anything…" Madame Giry whispered.

"But… you said she had the right to know!" Christine cried. "Surely, if the Phantom truly is Monsieur Destler, then Margaret must know about it!"

"Christine… we may have just made the whole situation worse…"

"But… Margaret will come back! I know she will!"

"You don't understand, Christine… Margaret fled before I could tell her… Erik doesn't remember who she is!"


	13. Silent Tears

**_13. Silent Tears_**

Margaret felt like her heart had been shattered. Was it possible to feel so much pain? Could it be that you could love someone so much that you felt like dying when you found out that that person was a terrible, awful monster?

Tears of sorrow, pain, and anger flowed down her cheeks as she ran blindly. She didn't know where she was going. She didn't care either. She just needed to go… _away_…

Away from the pain… Away from the hurt… Away from the possibility – no, the _reality_ – that her loving Erik had become some cruel, evil beast…

Why had he changed? Was he ashamed of what had become of his handsome face? But surely he knew that such a thing did not matter to her! If a rich noblewoman was capable of falling in love with a penniless composer, not even Hell itself would be able to break that love… It would never grow weary… It would never die…

That's why she felt such pain now… Erik was a horrible, awful man… A murderer… He had promised himself to her, and then went after the only woman her brother had ever loved… He was evil… He was a bad person… He belonged on the gallows with every other common murderer…

But she still loved him…

That's why she ran…

She was so distraught that she didn't watch where she was going as she rounded the corner, running right into the arms of Richard Firmin as he walked the corridor, deep in conversation with Andre.

"Miss de Chagny!" Andre cried when he saw the distraught woman collapse into his partner's arms. Firmin glanced at Andre uncomfortably as Margaret buried her face into his chest, tears running freely down his face.

A moment later the gendarme caught up to them. "Miss de Chagny," he panted. "Are you quite alright?"

"It is fine, officer," Andre told the guard. "We'll see to the young woman… You may return to your post…"

The guard glanced at the two men and shrugged as he turned and left Margaret with the managers.

"Where is my brother?" Margaret choked out. "I need to see Raoul…"

"We haven't seen him, miss," Andre said softly. "My dear, what has gotten you so upset?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Margaret whispered. "I can't…"

"Here, come into our office," Firmin suggested as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and gave it to her. "We'll make you some tea… It will help calm your nerves…"

Margaret nodded her thanks as she used Firmin's handkerchief to dry her eyes. She allowed the managers to lead her into their office, all the while wondering why Erik had broken her heart.

XxXxX

"…**_I banished every memory_…**"

The Phantom was still stuck on the song. He couldn't even sleep with his need to finish it.

He closed his eyes and thought of Margaret. He remembered how small and delicate she had seemed when he held her in his arms. Such a small gesture, yet having her so close had moved him beyond words. He used the memory to fuel his inspiration…

"**_When I touch you like this_…_ and I hold you like that_…**"

A small amount of progress… But it was the best he'd been able to come up with since the night he had comforted Margaret in her room.

She had felt so right in his arms. It was as though he knew she belonged there, with him. It was as though he knew that no other man would hold her like this… No other would touch her… Not as long as he was around…

"_No_ _one_ _but_ **_me_**…" the Phantom thought to himself.

The Phantom was tired. He had spent hours on the song without taking a break. He needed to sleep. With a sigh he peeled off his shirt and sat down on a nearby settee to pull off his boots. He laid back onto the cushions and sighed as he felt his tense muscles relax. He hadn't realized how tired he was. His eyelids grew heavy and he started nodding off.

In his sleepy state, he could still imagine Margaret's small body in his arms. She was so tiny and fragile… he had held her so gently, for fear that she would break. She moulded to his body perfectly. Her blonde head rested against his shoulder… It felt so right…

He loved how she felt in his arms… He loved the way she had clung to him, needing only him… wanting only him… He loved the softness of her skin under his rough hands… He loved running his fingers through her silky hair, playing with the bouncy curls at the end… He loved the feel of her soft lips against his own, twining his tongue with hers, ravishing her hot little mouth until she was breathless and whispering her undying love for him…

The Phantom's eyes snapped open.

_What_?

He had just imagined… no… _remembered_… himself with Margaret… _kissing_ her!

But that was crazy… He had never kissed her. The closest he had even come to that was by performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on her to save her life. What the Hell was going on?

"Get out of my head…" the Phantom growled as he clutched his aching skull. "Get out!"

The de Chagny girl was some kind of witch, casting this spell over his heart to torture him… He had to fight it… He couldn't give in!

"Leave me alone!" he screamed as he beat his fists against the nearest wall. "Leave me alone!"

XxXxX

Firmin handed Margaret a cup of tea. "Here, my dear. Drink this. It will make you feel better."

Margaret nodded her thanks and took the cup from him.

"Are you certain you don't want to tell us what's wrong?" Andre asked. "Has anyone else been bothering you?"

"No, no…" Margaret answered. "Nothing like that… It's just… Messieurs? May I ask you something?"

Firmin and Andre exchanged glances. It sounded as though Margaret wanted their advice. No one ever came to them for advice! As it was, there were jokes flying about the theatre that Firmin and Andre had the combined intelligence of pumpkin. They were the last to dispense jewels of wisdom to anyone!

"Uh… we'll try to answer your question as best we can," Firmin offered weakly.

Margaret paused. "Say you know someone… or at least think you do… really well… They seem kind and gentle. They're everything you could ever hope to be. Then, one day, they suddenly become the opposite. Instead of caring and compassionate, they are cruel and remorseless… How can this be? How can someone change so drastically?"

Andre sat in pensive silence for a few minutes. "I suppose," he spoke finally, "that sometimes… men forget who they are. And… if the circumstances are such… they may turn their back on everything they once were… and become someone else…"

"But why?" Margaret cried. "How could he forget?"

"_He_?" Firmin repeated. "So… we're talking about someone in specific?"

"I… I'm sorry," Margaret said as she stood up. "I didn't mean to be so much trouble… thank you both for your kindness…"

"Mademoiselle, are you sure you're alright?" Andre said as he followed her to the door.

"I… I'll be fine… really…"

"Then allow us to escort you back to your suite," Firmin said as opened the door for her.

"Thank you, Messieurs…"

Not another was spoken as the three trekked down the hall in silence.

XxXxX

Christine picked up her skirts to keep from tripping as she rushed into the lobby, searching for Margaret. She and Madame Giry had been looking for the girl for more than half an hour now, and she was very worried. Margaret had been very upset when she left.

"_And who can blame her_?" Christine wondered. "_I can_'_t imagine how horrible it must be_,_ thinking the man she loved has turned his back on her_…_ If only I could find her and tell her the truth_!"

"Christine?"

Christine nearly jumped out of her skin as she whirled around. "Raoul! What are you doing here?"

"It's late," Raoul answered. "I was wondering where you were…" He eyed for a moment. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," Christine replied quickly. "Nothing's wrong…"

Raoul sighed as he crossed his arms. "You think you can pull the wool over my eyes, Christine Daaé de Chagny? I know that look… Something has you worried…"

Christine swallowed the lump in her throat. "I… I… Raoul… I can't find Margaret!"

The colour drained from Raoul's face. "You _what_?"

"She–"

"She's supposed to be with someone at all times! I can't take the chance that LaForte will return and finish what he started! What the Hell happened? Wasn't the gendarme doing his job?"

"Raoul, she… something upset her… she ran from her room…"

"Did you see where she went?"

"No, but… Raoul? Perhaps you should know what upset her?"

"I don't care right now! We must find her!"

"Ah, Monsieur Vicomte!"

Raoul and Christine turned to see Firmin and Andre enter the lobby with Margaret in tow.

"See? She's safe and sound!" Andre said with a smile. "She's been with us this whole time."

Raoul let out a sigh of relief as he went to his sister and embraced her. "God, Margaret… You'll be the death of me, you know…"

"I'm sorry, Raoul…"

"It's fine… you don't have to explain yourself… Just, please, return to your room and don't run off anywhere again…"

"Yes, Raoul…"

"You promise?"

"I promise… I won't go anywhere without telling you…"

Raoul sighed and kissed her forehead. "Good… Now let's get you back to your room…" He turned to the managers. "Thank you, Messieurs, for looking after her…"

Andre and Firmin nodded their heads and turned to leave.

Margaret glanced at Christine, silently asking if she had told Raoul anything… Christine shook her head ever so slightly… Margaret sighed in relief…

She couldn't tell Raoul about Erik yet… It would simply make this bad situation worse… She didn't know when or where, but for now she had to keep this terrible secret from her brother…

"_He cannot know that the man I love is the Phantom_…"

XxXxX

The Phantom stared out at the destruction he had wrought in his lair. His desk was a splintered mess. Drawings and compositions littered the floor. Books had been flung across the room and tapestries had been torn from the walls.

The Phantom looked down at his bloody, bruised, and swollen knuckles. How many times had he struck the wall in his rage? He had lost count.

He was frustrated. He didn't know what was happening to him. Margaret de Chagny still haunted his dreams. Every vision was the same. She would caress his face, touch his chest, fall into his arms, or simply lie beside him and whisper her lover's name.

The Phantom was rather annoyed with the late Erik Destler. He had feelings for Margaret, but he felt that Margaret simply wanted someone to replace her lover… She didn't feel anything for _him_… Even when he comforted her in her room, she had called him Erik. The only reason she could even stomach his touch was by fantasizing that it was her Erik that held her.

Had Erik Destler still been alive, the Phantom would have loved to wring his damned neck.

Then there were these… _memories_… No, they couldn't be memories! They were delusions! They were hallucinations brought on by exhaustion, stress, and infatuation. These intimate moments that he was seeing… they were nothing… They meant nothing!

"_I am going to get to the bottom of this_," the Phantom thought. "_One way or another_,_ I will deal with this whole situation_…_ No matter what it takes_…"


	14. How Could You Forget?

**_14. How Could You Forget?_**

Margaret was purposefully silent as Raoul and Christine led her back to her suite. She was afraid that if she opened her mouth she would spill all of the terrible secrets she had been holding inside for so long.

"Here you are," Raoul said as he opened the door to her room.

"Thank you," Margaret said quietly as she stepped inside.

Before Raoul closed the door, he turned to Christine. "Shall we retire?" he asked.

"I will join you in a moment," Christine replied. "I would like a few minutes to visit with Margaret."

"Suit yourself," Raoul said as Christine stepped inside.

After Raoul had shut the door, Christine waited a moment or two to make sure he would not overhear what she had to say.

"Margaret, I need to talk to you," Christine said quietly.

"I do not wish to speak about _him_," Margaret said rather sharply.

"You don't understand, Margaret… There's more that you don't know…"

"Isn't what I already know enough heartache for a lifetime? The man I love abandoned me and now he's a wanted criminal. What else do you intend to tell me about him? What other terrible secrets do I not know about? What else has he done to break my heart?"

"Erik didn't abandon you, Margaret! Not of his own will! These crimes he has committed… they are not entirely his fault!"

"There is no excuse for what he did! I don't care if he didn't want to leave… the fact is, he did! He broke his promise! He left me alone! Everything he told me was a lie! If he loved me as much as he said he did, he would never have put me through all of this!"

Christine could not contain it anymore.

"Erik doesn't remember you!"

All speech left Margaret. "I… what do you mean? How could he not remember me?"

Christine grabbed hold of Margaret's shoulders. "When Madame Giry found him, he was injured… Madame mentioned a head wound… Erik was hurt, and his injury somehow robbed him of his memories…"

Margaret sat down on her bed before her knees gave out. "You mean… he has amnesia?"

"Yes, Margaret. You see? He didn't turn his back on you! This wasn't his choice! I know he must still love you! He just can't remember!"

Margaret looked as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Then… he doesn't hate me? He still loves me?"

Christine knelt before her sister-in-law. "He still loves you… He must…"

Margaret felt tears of relief well into her eyes. "He still loves me…" Margaret raised her head. "The night of the Masquerade Ball… The man who danced with me… He had Erik's voice and Erik's eyes! He kept me away from Monsieur LaForte!"

Christine nodded, relieved to see that Margaret finally understood the truth.

"And then the night he saved me from LaForte… He held me and sang to me… He comforted me! And then… then the Phantom wrote a note to me… He told me that he wanted to protect me!"

"You see?" Christine smiled. "Some small part of him still remembers you… Deep down, he knows that he wants to take care of you… Just like he always did!"

"My Erik is alive," Margaret whispered. "He's not a bad man… And he's alive… I… I just can't believe he's forgotten me…"

Christine took her hands. "He _will_ remember… No matter what it takes… We'll find him, and you'll help him remember…"

XxXxX

"_Margaret_…"

Echoes from someplace inside the Phantom's broken mind kept whispering in his ear.

"_Love me_…"

He didn't even try to understand anymore…

"_No one but you_…"

He was so tired of fighting these visions that now haunted his sleep… and even his consciousness…

"_Take me_…"

As he sat perched on Apollo's lyre, overlooking the city below him, he closed his eyes and breathed deep. The night air was always so refreshing.

"_Erik_…"

He didn't know what to do anymore… Reveal himself to Margaret, confront the source of his frustrations, and somehow force himself to not feel anything… or just leave the girl alone…

"_I fear I have come too far to turn my back now_," the Phantom thought. "_I never wanted to feel anything for another person ever again_…_ But now_…_ I need her_…_ I need to know that another person can look at me and see a man instead of a monster_…_ I need to know how it feels to be needed_…_ to be wanted_…_ I need someone to love_,_ and love me in return_…_ And I have never been so close_…"

A strange sight disturbed the Phantom from his thoughts. A carriage was pulling up to the Populaire. Strange… it was late, and there were no operas showing. Who would come at such an hour?

The Phantom's heart nearly stopped cold when he saw the figure that emerged from the carriage. He wore a police officer's uniform… but the Phantom could not mistake the proud manner in which he walked, as though he owned the world…

"_LaForte_…_ Why have you come back_?"

He was after Margaret again… he had to be!

The Phantom leapt from his perch and ran back inside. He had to tell Madame Giry about this. She would alert the Vicomte and the police would get rid of that man for good!

XxXxX

The Phantom arrived on the catwalks. Below him, Madame Giry was apparently searching the auditorium for something. Whatever it was, she certainly looked worried.

The Phantom was about to call to her when another voice suddenly filled the room.

"Madame Giry?"

Madame Giry turned as the Vicomte approached her.

"Vicomte! Have you found Margaret yet?"

The Phantom immediately began to panic. "_She_'_s missing_?_ No_!_ That can_'_t be_!_ That pitiful excuse for a man will try to take her again_!"

"It's alright," Raoul said. "She's in her room with Christine now…"

The Phantom and Madame Giry simultaneously sighed in relief.

"Did Christine happen to tell you what had Margaret so upset?" Raoul asked.

"_Leave_,_ you damned fool_!" the Phantom thought at him. "_I can_'_t let you see me_!_ Damn it_,_ go_!_ Time is of the essence_!_ If I don_'_t tell her to warn you soon_,_ your precious sister will be in great peril_!"

Madame Giry looked uncomfortable. "She had another nightmare about Erik Destler… I guess this one was really bad…"

Raoul sighed. "I thought she was beginning to get over that man…"

The Phantom left the pair to their conversation, feeling very frustrated. There was no time for him to waste! He would just have to stop LaForte himself…

XxXxX

Dominique LaForte had been planning this night ever since he nearly had his way with Margaret all those nights ago. It was quite helpful having a friend on the police force who was just about his own size. He had invited his friend to the hotel where he was staying and got him very drunk. He was now passed on the floor of LaForte's room and probably would not wake for several more hours.

When he was out cold, LaForte stripped him of his uniform and put it on. Now he could pass through the theatre without rousing suspicion. The other guards would assume he was one of theirs.

He planned to enter the theatre and hide somewhere until everyone else had gone to bed. He would go to Margaret's room and tell the guard there that he was relieving him. The sleepy guard would no doubt be too grateful to ask any questions. When the other guard had left, he would enter Margaret's room and sedate her with a rag soaked in chloroform, which he had brought with him. When she was out, he would sneak out with her through one of the rear exits of the theatre, which led into an alley. No one would see him take her to his carriage and put her inside. He would be long gone before the Vicomte realized what had happened. He would take her to Italy with him and force her to marry him. Eventually she would learn to obey him, or suffer his wrath. When that day came, they would sail to America, far from where the Vicomte could find her. She would not put up a fuss or alert anyone to his presence, and then he would have her for himself.

The plan was flawless, yet LaForte had one nagging concern…

He still did not know the identity of the man who had attacked him that night in Margaret's room. He was too big to be the Vicomte… too strong for Andre or Firmin or Reyer… As it was, he wasn't even sure how the stranger had entered the room, for he had shut the door after he entered and was certain that no one had opened it while he was otherwise occupied with the beauty on the bed.

Had Margaret gotten some kind of guardian? Someone to watch her at all times and ensure that no harm came to her?

Whoever he was, he would not trick Dominique LaForte again. This time he would be on his toes. He wouldn't be caught off guard. No one was going to stop him… Not now, not ever…

XxXxX

_A few hours later_…

Margaret had easily passed the dozing gendarme by her door to enter the auditorium of the theatre. She glanced around to make sure no one else was around and then climbed up onto the stage.

She felt bad for breaking her promise to Raoul. She knew she should have told him where she was going, but she needed to go somewhere where there would be no chance of someone interrupting her.

She just needed to think…

She had to find Erik… She had to find him soon… She was dying from being apart from him…

"**_You don_'_t remember me_, _but I remember you_… _I lie awake and try so hard not to think of you_, _but who can decide what they dream_? _And dream I do_…**"

When she finally found him, she'd do whatever it took to help him remember her…

"**_I believe in you_. _I_'_ll give up everything just to find you_. _I have to be with you to live_, _to breathe_. _You_'_re taking over me_…**"

She knew some part of him still remembered… He cared about her, though perhaps he did not know why. After everything he'd done for her since she arrived at the Populaire, she knew that his love for her had not died.

"**_Have you forgotten all I know and all we had_? _You saw me mourning my love for you and touched my hand_. _I knew you loved me then_…**"

She just couldn't believe he had forgotten…

"**_I believe in you_. _I_'_ll give up everything just to find you_. _I have to be with you to live_, _to breathe_. _You_'_re taking over me_.**"

He had forgotten their love and pursued Christine… Perhaps he had let her go because deep down he knew his heart already belonged to someone else…

"**_I look in the mirror and see your face if I look deep enough_. _So many things inside that are just like you are taking over_…**"

He was not an evil person… He was the same man who had loved her and wanted to marry her… She would help him see… She would help him look inside and remember who he truly was…

"**_I believe in you_. _I_'_ll give up everything just to find you_. _I have to be with you to live_, _to breathe_. _You_'_re taking over me_.**"

There was no one else for her in this world… She could not just sit still and allow him to continue the way he was… She had to try…

"**_You_'_re taking over me_… _Taking over me_…**"

"Oh, Erik…" she whispered. "How could you forget?"

She froze when she heard footsteps approaching her from behind… She felt hot breath on the back of her neck…


	15. A Dangerous Game

**_15. A Dangerous Game_**

Margaret stood paralyzed with fear, unable to move. Somehow she knew that she wasn't going to like what she saw when she turned around.

"We meet again…" LaForte hissed into her ear.

Margaret tried to run but he hooked an arm around her waist, holding her against him. His other hand clamped down on her mouth to keep her from screaming. Margaret struggled against him with all her might. Why was he doing this? Why couldn't he just leave her alone?

"You've certainly made this easier for me," LaForte smirked. "Had you stayed in your bedroom, I would have had to deal with that guard… But wandering out here? All alone where no one will see you? This will be like taking candy from a baby!"

LaForte removed a damp cloth from his pocket and Margaret picked up a faint sweet scent.

"Then again, it would have been so much easier if you hadn't put up such a fuss in the first place… Well, no matter… Once I put this over your mouth, you'll go to sleep. When you wake up you'll be in Italy, on your way to a wedding!"

Margaret's heart sank into her toes when he leaned in close to her ear.

"_Our_ wedding…"

Margaret shook her head, pleading behind his palm for him not to do this.

"You _will_ be my wife… And you _will_ obey me…"

Margaret started to scream as LaForte began to raise the cloth. But her cries were muffled by his hand and no one could hear her.

"I offered you everything and you shunned me," LaForte hissed.

"Let the girl go…"

Margaret cried in relief when she heard the voice that she knew so well. LaForte turned with her and she found herself facing the Phantom of the Opera in all of his dark glory. He stood only a few yards away from them and Margaret saw him clearly for the first time since she came to the Opera Populaire. On the right side of his face he wore a cold, white mask… but the left side was the face of her Erik.

It was strange to see him dressed in such finery. The black trousers, jacket, and waistcoat were clearly tailored for his large body. The black leather gloves were obviously expensive. He was wearing a cloak that fell from his shoulders all the way to the floor. Erik would never have been able to afford to dress like that… But then again, he was a very different person now.

It was easy to see why everyone was so afraid of the Phantom. He stood with confidence, knowing that no one could destroy him. The glare he was currently giving LaForte was one that could easily melt ice.

"Well, if it isn't the legendary Phantom of the Opera," LaForte murmured. "I've heard so much about you… You used to be in the paper quite a bit… A man masquerading as a ghost…"

"Let her go," the Phantom growled.

"Ah, have you moved on from chorus girls?" LaForte taunted. "You now wish to have the sister of your worst enemy?"

"I will not repeat myself again!" the Phantom snapped. "Release her, or suffer the consequences!"

"You think you can stop me?" LaForte hissed. "You are no spectre! You're flesh and blood! I am not afraid of you!"

"You should be," the Phantom said darkly.

LaForte fumed. Then a malicious smile came to his lips.

"You want her? Take her!" He flung Margaret to the floor between them.

The Phantom glanced between Margaret and LaForte suspiciously. LaForte was obviously playing some kind of game. If he was not careful, the cost would be great.

The Phantom began to slowly approach Margaret's trembling form when the sound of a pistol cocking caused him to freeze in his tracks. Looking up, he saw that LaForte had pulled out a gun and had it levelled at him.

"You have a choice to make, Phantom," LaForte told him. "You always enjoy giving ultimatums… So here's one for you… Touch her, and I'll kill you both. Walk away now, and I'll take Margaret with me and give her everything her heart desires." LaForte smirked. "The choice is all yours…"

The Phantom looked back at Margaret's whimpering form. He could not leave her with this man, but he would not forfeit her life either.

There was only one choice, but it meant risking his life and possibly Margaret's to save them both…

The Phantom looked coolly at LaForte. "You like games, Monsieur?"

"Make your choice!"

The Phantom smirked. "Very well, Monsieur… I won't touch her…"

Before LaForte could blink, the Phantom leapt over Margaret and grabbed LaForte's hands, wrestling him for the gun.

"But I'll _never_ walk away!"

Margaret gasped as she watched the two men fight for the gun.

"Miss de Chagny, get into the orchestra pit!" the Phantom yelled.

"Be careful!" she cried as she followed his order. Hunkered down in the orchestra pit she was safe from harm… but she could not see the men as they continued their battle on the stage.

"What's wrong, Phantom?" LaForte asked through gritted teeth as he struggled to take the gun back. "Has the noble girl made you soft?"

"She deserves a thousand times better than you!"

"Are you in love with her, Phantom?" LaForte laughed. "What makes you think she would see anything in you? You're a monster! An ugly monster!"

The Phantom felt rage boil through his blood, but he could offer no response because he knew LaForte was right.

"It's over, Phantom!" LaForte roared. "Margaret is mine!"

With every ounce of strength in him, the Phantom yanked LaForte's arms to the side and sent the gun flying. It skittered across the stage and came to rest a few yards away from them. Both men dove for the gun.

Margaret gasped when she heard a single shot, a cry of pain, and the heavy thud of a body hitting the stage. She was afraid to stand and look to see what had happened.

Everything was silent for a moment. Margaret heard the sound of slow, heavy footsteps across the stage. They paused at the edge of the stage. Finally, a hand reached down into the darkness of the orchestra pit where Margaret still cowered. Afraid to look up, she took the offered hand and was pulled back up onto the stage. She heard a small grunt of pain as she was pulled into a pair of warm, loving arms.

Margaret finally opened her eyes and cried out in relief when she saw the Phantom, looking a little sweaty and breathless, but alive. His stormy eyes were filled with concern.

The Phantom had mistaken her cry for one of fear. "I'm not going to hurt you," he assured her.

"I know! I'm just so glad you're alright!" She threw her arms around him and held him. He released a tiny whimper of pain, but allowed her to hold him.

"I told you I'd protect you," he whispered.

Margaret looked over his shoulder at the still form of LaForte, lying on the other side of the stage.

"Is he… dead?" she asked.

The Phantom shook his head. "Just unconscious…" He pulled away from her slightly and stroked her cheek with his hand. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine."

Margaret found her eyes wandering from his eyes to his lips. She wanted nothing more than to lean up and caress his lips with her own. She longed for him to tangle his fingers in her hair and kiss her like only a Frenchman could.

Suddenly, shouts could be heard just outside the auditorium. Margaret realized that the gunshot must have woken everyone up.

"I have to go," the Phantom said quietly as he stepped away from her.

"Please, don't leave!" she cried.

"Good-bye, Miss de Chagny," he said as he turned and retreated to the shadows. Margaret noticed that he was running with a bit of a limp.

Seconds later, the auditorium was filled with armed guards, stagehands wakened from their slumber, maids, caretakers, and a few ballet rats that had managed to slip past Madame Giry. All were shocked to see Margaret on the stage with what appeared to be an unconscious gendarme.

"It's Monsieur LaForte!" Margaret cried as she pointed at the man on the floor. "He tried to take me again! The Phantom of the Opera saved me!"

Cries of alarm rose up from the crowd.

"Margaret!" Raoul cried as jumped onto the stage in nothing but his robe. Christine, in her dressing gown, followed him.

"Someone get a doctor! She's hurt!"

"Hurt?" Margaret repeated. "I'm fine! The Phantom saved me!"

"Margaret!" Christine cried as she pointed at Margaret's middle.

Margaret looked down and saw a large red stain in the white of her dressing gown…

Blood…

"But…" Margaret whispered. "But I'm not hurt! This isn't my blood!"

"Then whose blood is it?"

XxXxX

Every step down into the darkness of his lair had been painful and slow. Now he stood in his lair, ready to collapse from pain and exhaustion.

He shrugged out of his cloak and left it on the floor. Off came his gloves. He untied his cravat and also discarded it.

Now the jacket…

His body screamed in pain as he rotated his shoulders to pull his arms out of the sleeves. It took nearly five minutes to accomplish, but finally the jacket joined the rest of the clothing on the floor. The waistcoat and shirt soon followed.

Dragging himself over to one of the mirrors, he turned his shirtless body to look at the gunshot wound in his side. Such a small hole, but it was bleeding badly. He had lost a lot of blood on the way down here and he felt so sleepy.

But he couldn't sleep! If he did, he would never wake up! He had to get to his medical kit. He had to remove the bullet and stitch himself before he died from blood loss.

But he was so tired…


	16. Déjà Vu All Over Again

**_NOTE FROM ANGEL_:**

**Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. Mayla and I are both in school right now, so a lot of our free time has been taken up. We'll still try to get chapters up as soon as we can, but try to bear with us as we can no longer devote as much time to this story as we did over the summer.**

**One other thing… I really appreciate all of the positive feedback and comments this story has received, but I feel that you guys are giving _me_ too much credit. This story may be under my profile, but Mayla has devoted just as much time to this fic as I have. In fact, the entire plot thus far has been completely her own creation – all I've done is help write. So next time you review, don't forget to tell Mayla what an awesome job she's doing. I honestly don't know where this fic would be without her!**

**_Erik_: I do… wallowing in a pit of suckedy-suck-suck-suckedness! Thank goodness you finally found an author who knows a thing or two about plot development!**

**That being said… Enjoy this chapter!**

**_16. Déjà Vu All Over Again_**

"Christine, take Margaret back to her room and see to it that the gendarme ensures that she stays there!"

Margaret cringed at the tone of anger in her brother's voice. She had broken her promise and caused him even more grief. Now he had to deal with the distressed witnesses, the police, and the criminal who was just coming to. LaForte was being apprehended by the police and taken into custody.

"Come on, Margaret," Christine said quietly. "Let's get you changed into a clean gown."

Margaret turned to Christine. "He was hurt," she whispered, so that only Christine heard her. "That gunshot… dear God, that bullet hit him! I have to go to him, Christine! He'll need my help!"

"Margaret, you can't! The catacombs are dangerous. He has so many traps down there! You could be hurt or killed if you tried to go down there!"

"There must be something I can do!"

"It's alright, Margaret," Madame Giry said as she approached the two young women. "I know my way through the labyrinth. I will go to him and help him."

"Oh, thank you Madame Giry! Oh, please hurry! I don't know how badly he was hurt!"

"Don't worry, Margaret," Madame Giry said with a reassuring smile as she started walking away from them. "Your fiancé is in good hands…"

XxXxX

Madame Giry wasted no time in going down to the Phantom's lair. As she arrived on his doorstep, she already didn't like the looks of the situation. She could smell blood in the air, and there was a trail of some dark, sticky, wet substance on the ground.

"Monsieur!" she called. She couldn't see him as she arrived in the lair. He was nowhere in sight.

"Monsieur!"

A soft groan reached her ears.

"Annie?"

Madame Giry followed the sound of his voice into the Phantom's study. There, propped against the desk, the Phantom sat. He wore nothing but his trousers and blood surrounded his immediate area. A small, round, metal object lay in a puddle of blood on the floor a few feet away from him.

He had removed the bullet.

But he was still bleeding from the wound in his side and it was obvious that he had lost a lot of blood. His normally pale skin was a sickly grey colour and he was shivering. He was currently struggling to keep his hand steady as he sterilized a needle over a candle flame.

"Are you crazy?" Madame Giry cried as she took the needle out of his trembling hand and started threading it. "You're in no condition to be caring for yourself like this!"

"I c-c-can look after m-myself," he said through chattering teeth.

"You can't fix everything!" Madame Giry retorted. She placed a hand on his skin. "Dear God, you're freezing! Well, once I've stitched you up it's straight to bed for you."

"Hmmmm…" he mumbled as he closed his eyes.

"Oh, no you don't!" Madame Giry shook him awake. "You're not going to sleep right now!"

"So tired…" he murmured.

"Please, try to stay awake? Just for a little while longer?"

"Hmmmm…"

Madame Giry worked quickly to sew the wound. The Phantom grunted a few times in objection to the pricking needle, but allowed Madame Giry to do her work.

"There," Madame Giry said as she knotted the last stitch. "As long as you don't exert yourself too much, that will hold. Try to rest for the next few weeks, please? Just while it heals?"

"This theatre won't haunt itself," the Phantom muttered as he used the desk to help himself up. Once he was on his feet, he swayed a bit.

"Lean on me," Madame Giry instructed him. The Phantom did so, and the small woman helped the larger man walk to Christine's old room and got him to lie down on the swan bed. She wasn't going to allow him to rest on the settee where he normally slept.

"Rest, Monsieur," Madame Giry said gently, pulling the blanket over him with motherly care. This wasn't the first time she had looked after him.

"Thank you, Annie," he yawned. It was now safe for him to sleep. Madame Giry would stay by his side until he was strong enough to care for himself.

"You're going to be the death of this old woman, you know," she smiled.

"Hmmmm…"

Madame Giry sat down in a chair beside the bed. The Phantom rolled his head to the side to look at her.

"Annie?"

"Yes?"

"Is she alright?"

"Margaret?"

The Phantom nodded weakly.

Madame Giry sighed. Weakened from blood loss and pain, and all he wanted to know was if the woman he couldn't remember was alright.

"She is fine, Monsieur. Sleep."

"Hmmmm…" With a final sigh he closed his eyes and slept deeply. Madame Giry sat quietly, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

"_Erik Destler_…_ I hope you are ready to finally learn the truth_…"

XxXxX

Christine held Margaret's soiled dressing gown in her hands. "I may as well get rid of it… This stain won't come out…"

Margaret, after changing into a clean dressing gown, had not stopped pacing the room.

"What if something happens to him?" she cried. She was almost hysterical with worry. "What if Madame Giry is too late? What if he is too seriously injured? I can't lose him again, Christine! I can't! I'll die _with_ him this time!"

"You can't think like that, Margaret," Christine tried to calm her friend. "I'm sure he is fine… We're talking about the same man who survived a blazing house fire. And Madame Giry is very good at what she does. I'm sure she's already fixed him up, and he's resting as we speak…"

Margaret sat on the edge of her bed and started rocking back and forth. "He took that bullet for me… If something happens to him, it will be my fault!"

"It won't be your fault," Christine maintained. "What he did was his own choice… an act of bravery… out of love for you…"

Margaret sighed. "He will never stop protecting me, will he? No matter what, he'll always be there for me… watching over me…"

Christine nodded. She sat in pensive silence for a while. "Margaret?"

"Yes?"

"What was the Pha… what was _Erik_ like before?"

Margaret sighed wistfully. "Where to start? I thought he was truly an earthbound angel the moment I saw him. His handsome face and his beautiful voice… Those amazing eyes… Those eyes drew me in… I got lost in them…"

Christine nodded and allowed Margaret to continue with her memory.

"He offered me shelter from the blackest of storms… He was kind… and so nervous… He had always been a solitary person, until he met me… But he was such a good man… He had a sense of humour and was as playful as a puppy!"

Christine giggled at the description of the man that everyone knew as the terrible Opera Ghost.

"But he could also be so romantic… and passionate… He made me feel things I never thought I'd feel… When he asked me to marry him, I felt like the luckiest person alive!" She paused. "Raoul wasn't very happy for me at first… I suppose he had hoped that I would turn Erik down… 'Do the right thing,' as he put it… That is, until…"

"Until what?" Christine asked.

Margaret met her sister-in-law's eyes. "Until… I reminded him of you… and how happy you used to make him, when we were children… He loved you and wanted you for a wife, even when we were that young. It didn't matter that you were the daughter of a humble musician… He loved you because of who you were… I told him that it was the same between Erik and I, and so he gave us his blessing…"

Christine's eyes shone, having never realized all the things Margaret had told her.

Margaret looked at the floor. "I found joy in my heart when I heard that Raoul had found you again… that you were both in love and wanted to marry… In the blackness of my grief for my only love, your union restored a small measure of light to my heart…"

Margaret turned once more to look at Christine. "I remember the way you two looked at each other on your wedding day… Only once before had I seen love – true love – that was immortal, ever enduring, pure, and everlasting through time… I had seen it in my lover's eyes…"

XxXxX

Madame Giry yawned and stretched. She wondered how long she had been sleeping.

She turned to check on the Phantom and was horrified to see an empty bed!

"Monsieur!" she cried as she jumped to her feet. "Monsieur, where are you?"

"Calm now, Madame," the Phantom said nonchalantly as he casually strode into the room. "I am perfectly fine."

Madame Giry sighed in relief. "You are not fine! You were shot last night!"

"Monsieur LaForte is not as skilled a marksman as he believes himself to be. That bullet didn't even come close to anything vital. I will heal in no time."

"Not if you don't rest, you won't!" Madame Giry retorted. She paused. "That was a very brave thing you did for Margaret…"

"Any other man would have done the same thing…"

"Nonetheless, what you did took a great deal of courage… I'm proud of you…"

"Thank you, Madame… Now, I believe your ballet rats will be missing you…"

Madame Giry blinked at him. "You want me to leave you? In your condition?"

"I'm not an invalid, Madame… I'm quite capable of looking after myself now."

"But your wound!"

"It's a bit tender, but I am fine."

"What if something happens to you?"

He sighed, annoyed. "I will take it easy, Madame. I don't need you to be supervising me!"

Madame Giry was quiet for a moment. "Perhaps we should talk before I go…"

"I am feeling rather tired, Madame… I'd like to rest, if you don't mind…"

"But there's something important that I think we need to discuss!"

"Later, Madame!" he said, none-too-gently. "I don't have the energy for this right now!"

Madame Giry sighed in defeat. "Very well… I will leave you now…"

"_It is up to Margaret to tell him the truth_," she thought. "_He won_'_t believe it coming from me_…"

The Phantom watched her as she left his lair. Seconds after she disappeared from his sight, he swayed on his feet and leaned against the nearest wall to keep from falling over. He wouldn't admit to Madame Giry how terrible he was feeling. He hated allowing others to see him so weak… So he simply put up a strong front. Now that she was gone, it took great effort even to stand on his own.

"_Bed_…_ need_…_ rest_…_ sleep_…"

He dragged his body over to the swan bed and sank down onto the velvety pillows.

"_So tired_…"

The Phantom closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep…

XxXxX

_Once again_,_ he sat before his piano and tried to compose_._ But he was getting nowhere fast_._ He had moved to Paris in the hopes of becoming a successful composer_…_ everyone came to Paris to make a name for themselves_…_ But he had been here_,_ living in this modest cottage_,_ for over two years_._ His career was no further along now than it was when he first arrived in la Ville de l_'_Amour_.

_La Ville de l_'_Amour_…_ The City of Love_…_ That_'_s what everyone in his hometown called Paris_…_ He was told that anyone who went to Paris was bound to fall in love sooner or later_…

_So he had come here_,_ writing operas about adventure_,_ deception_,_ magic_,_ fantasy_,_ and above all_,_ love_…

_One small problem though_…_ He had never been in love_…

_He had excellent ideas for fantastic operas that were sure to sell wonderfully_,_ but he could never finish them_._ It wasn_'_t that he lacked the talent_…_ No_…_ What he lacked was a muse_…

_He worked away for hours_._ He was so absorbed in his work that he hardly noticed when the skies blackened_,_ the winds began to howl_,_ the rain started pounding_,_ and the lightning started flashing_.

_His voice rose above the rolling thunder as he sang_. "**_There were moments of gold_, _and there were flashes of light_. _There were things I_'_d never do again_, _but then they_'_d always seemed right_. _There were nights of endless pleasure_, _it was more than any laws allow_. _Baby_, _baby_, _if I kiss you like this_, _and if you whisper like that_… _It was lost long ago_, _but it_'_s_**–"

_Urgent knocking disturbed him from his work_.

"_Who on earth could that be_?"_ he wondered out loud_.

_Getting up from the bench_,_ he made his way over to the door and opened it_._ He nearly gasped out loud when he saw a woman standing there on his porch_.

_She was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes upon_!_ It was as though an angel had come down from the Heavens to bless him with her very presence_!

_He finally snapped back to reality_._ She was wet and shivering_,_ staring at him as though she stood before the gateway to Paradise_.

_How rude he was being_!_ This poor woman obviously needed assistance of some kind_,_ and here he was staring at her like a buffoon_.

"_Mademoiselle_?"_ he spoke tentatively_,_ hoping she wouldn_'_t be perturbed with him for making her wait_.

_The woman blinked_,_ and then she blushed_. "_I_-_I_… _I was looking for shelter_," _she stammered_. "_M_-_my horse_–"

"_Say no more_,"_ he said_,_ holding up a hand_._ He was more than willing to give this beauty **anything** she needed_._ Without a second thought_,_ he entered the storm_-_blackened night and reached out to take the reins of the brown mare that stood a short distance off_.

"_Oh_!"_ the woman cried out_. "_Let me help you_,_ Monsieur_!_ Moll doesn_'_t take well to strangers_!"

_But he had always been good with animals_._ He took hold of the reins and gently stroked her muzzle_,_ whispering softly into her velvety ear_._ The mare was tense at first_,_ but quickly relaxed and allowed him to lead her to his stable_.

_His stable was_,_ by no means_,_ grand_._ It was simply a small_,_ rundown shack meant for his only horse_ – _a black gelding named Caesar_._ But it was warm and dry inside_,_ and that was the important thing_.

_He began removing the mare_'_s saddle_._ The beautiful woman had followed and started helping him_._ He noticed her attire for the first time_…_ She was wearing an expensive riding dress_…_ He also noticed the quality of the tack that he was currently removing from her horse_ –_ excellent condition_._ This woman was either of noble descent_,_ or she was from a wealthy family_._ No doubt she had dozens of stable boys at her disposal to take care of her horse and equipment_.

_He suddenly felt very self_-_conscious_._ What was she thinking right now_,_ at the sight of this tiny old stable_?_ What would she think when he offered her shelter inside his modest cottage_?_ Certainly_,_ a woman of her position would turn up her nose at his humble home_,_ and look down upon him as the working_-_class scum that he was_.

_Yet she worked alongside him_,_ doing everything she could to make her horse comfortable_._ She did not seek shelter and allow him to do all the work_,_ as someone else in her position may have_._ He instantly knew that this was a very special woman_.

_When_, _at last_, _the mare was settled_, _he turned to the woman_. "_You probably should have gone inside where it_'_s dry_."

"_I_'_m_ _already wet_," _she said with a smile_.

_God in Heaven_, _she had a beautiful smile_…

"_Indeed_," _he said with a laugh_. _After a moment_'_s hesitation_, _he offered her his hand_. "_On three_, _we run like the Devil_'_s chasing us_?"

_She took his hand without fear_. "_Alright_…"

"_One_…"

"_Two_…"

"_Three_!"

_Together they ran out into the storm_. _The woman_'_s little hand felt so warm and soft in his large_, _calloused grip_. _He wondered how his rough hands must feel to her_. _She couldn_'_t possibly like the sensation of his hand closed around hers_, _could she_?

_No_…_ She wouldn_'_t derive any enjoyment from that_…

_At last_, _they burst through the door of his home_. _He reluctantly released her hand_.

"_Well_, _that was refreshing_," _he said as he began to peel off his wet shirt_.

"_Uh_…" _the woman cleared her throat_.

_He froze_, _realizing what he was doing_, _and felt his cheeks grow hot_. _He quickly pulled his shirt back down_.

"_Sorry_," _he said quickly_. "_I_'_m_, _ah_… _not really used to having ladies in my home_… _or_ **_anyone_**, _for that matter_…"

_He suddenly felt very uncomfortable_. _It was bad enough that his soaking shirt was clinging to his torso and becoming see_-_through_, _offering_ _this woman a rather inappropriate view of his body_. _But her clothes were wet and clinging as well_. _He was ashamed of himself when he realized that he rather appreciated the sight of her womanly curves_. _What would she think of him if she knew what was going through his head_?

"_Look at her face_…_ Look at her face_…" _he chanted over and over in his mind_.

"_You must get out of those wet clothes_," _he said_, _needing an excuse to remove her from his sight for a few moments_. "_You_'_ll catch your death_… _I have a robe you can wear_. _You may change in my room_."

_He led the woman to his small bedroom and_, _after grabbing a dry shirt and trousers_, _left her alone and went to change in his kitchen_. _While he was there he made up a pot of tea_, _figuring his guest would like something hot to drink after being out in that cold storm_.

_He returned to his sitting room with two cups of tea_, _which he set down on his coffee table_. _It appeared that his guest was not yet ready_.

"_I_'_ll never understand why it takes all females so long to get ready_," _he said under his breath as he sat down at his piano_.

_While he waited he ran his fingers over the ivory keyboard and studied the music in front of him_. _Could it be that he had been working on this same piece for over a month_? _He just didn_'_t understand why it wasn_'_t working out the way he wanted it to_. _If only he had some sort of inspiration to help him finish his masterpiece_!

"_Do you play_?"

_He jumped a foot_, _startled_. _Then he took a breath as he turned to face the woman_. _He was stunned by the image of her in his robe_, _which was miles too big for her_. _Her blue eyes studied him intently_.

"_Ah_, _yes_," _he answered_. "_Since I was a child_… _I_'_m_… _ah_… _I_'_m a_… _a composer_…"

"_Oh_,_ yes_,_ that will impress her_," _he thought dryly_. "_A pathetic starving artist_…_ She must think I_'_m lower than dirt_!"

"_How interesting_," _she said with sincerity_,_ surprising him_. "_Was that your voice I heard when I arrived_?"

_He managed a small smile_. "_Yes_… _That was me_… _I was working out the tenor part for an opera I_'_m working on_." _He stood up_. "_I made tea_. _I thought you might like something to warm you up_."

"_Thank you_," _she whispered when he handed her one of the cups_.

_Her fingers brushed his as she took the drink from him_. _He watched her as she sipped her tea_. _She was the very image of beauty_. _He found himself wondering what her lips felt like_. _His hands were itching to touch her and find out if the rest of her skin was as warm and soft as her hands_.

_But more than that_, _her presence moved him in some strange_, _inexplicable way_. _She was so kind to him_. _Though he knew her for but a few minutes_, _he found that he greatly enjoyed her company_.

_He knew that he would love to have her company for a while longer_… _He would be happy to have her stay with him for a few more hours_… _maybe a few days_… _Ridiculous_, _of course_! _Yet he found that he did not want her to go from his presence_.

_He wanted her to stay_… _forever_…

_But it was foolishness_! _One cannot fall in love within a matter of minutes_!

_He didn_'_t even know her name yet_…

"_Forgive me_," _he spoke up_. "_But I don_'_t believe we have been properly introduced_."

"_Oh_!" _She set her cup down_. "_I_'_m sorry_… _My name is Margaret de Chagny_."

_He took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips_, _kissing her knuckles_. _The moment his lips touched her warm skin_, _he felt his heart rate increase_. _His hand began to tremble_.

"_Sweet Jesus_,"_ he thought_."_I hope to marry this woman_!"

XxXxX

The Phantom's eyes snapped wide open. He glanced around and sighed in relief when he found himself still in his lair.

He tried to sit up, but searing pain hit his side. He fell back onto the pillows. Again, he felt sleepiness come over him.

"_Can_'_t sleep_…_ Dreams will come back_… _Can_'_t sleep_…_ Dreams will come back_…"

The Phantom struggled to keep his eyes open. It was no use. He bit his lip and tried to roll his body out of bed, but the pain in his side was too intense. He sank back onto the bed.

"_Need sleep_… _So tired_…"

He slipped back into unconscious, and was once more troubled by visions of the same beautiful face that tortured his day and haunted his night…

XxXxX

_A week later_…

The Phantom winced as he pulled his cloak onto his shoulders. His wound was still raw, but he had a job to do.

Being laid up in bed had allowed him a lot of time to think about his little problem. He had finally decided what to do about it. He just hoped everything went smoothly. He was in no condition to defend himself if things got out of hand.

"_The reward will be worth the risk_," he thought as he took one last glance in the mirror. Straightening his jacket, he turned and headed for his boat…

XxXxX

Margaret sank into the comfortable seats of Box Five. Raoul and Christine sat nearby in Box Two. Margaret had insisted on sitting here alone. Raoul couldn't understand why, but Christine knew…

She needed to be somewhere where she could feel close to Erik…

Margaret was terribly worried about him. Madame Giry had said that he was alright, but it had been a week and no one and seen or heard from him. She was afraid for his health.

Christine finally convinced her to come to the opera tonight to help take her mind off things. _La Feu du Conquérant_ had been put on hold, with Dominique LaForte's pending trial. Instead, _Hannibal_ was being shown until a new opera could be selected for production.

Raoul was still rather angry with Margaret for breaking her promise, and had not spoken to her much over the last week. She sighed and leaned back into her seat, as if the furniture could offer her some comfort.

Margaret caught a faint scent and she froze. There was an aroma… it smelled familiar…

Margaret brought her face close to the upholstery of the seats and sniffed. She gasped at what she smelled…

"_These seats smell like Erik_!"

Erik had a scent about him that she could never forget. Masculine… with sandalwood… It was a scent that was uniquely his, and she had always loved it… After all the time he had spent here in Box Five, his scent must have permeated the curtains and upholstery…

"_Oh Erik_," she thought. "_I will help you remember_…_ If it_'_s the last thing I do_…_ I_'_ll help you remember what we had_…_ I_'_ll help you remember **us**_…"

XxXxX

The Phantom frowned as he looked down from his perch on the balcony over the chandelier – the Heavens. He could see the entire theatre from where he stood, and it was plain to him that someone was sitting in Box Five.

"_They never learn_," he thought, highly annoyed.

He had had enough of this. He had allowed these people to walk all over him for far too long. This nonsense had gone on far enough!

"I'm through being nice…"

XxXxX

Margaret jumped in her seat when a loud voice suddenly resounded throughout the auditorium.

"**Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty?**"

Cries of alarm rose up from the audience.

"He's here! The Phantom of the Opera!"

"It's him!"

"It's the Opera Ghost!"

"Erik!" Margaret cried, though no one heard her voice through all the racket.

She knew his voice instantly. Never before had she heard him sound so angry… furious… In the entire time she had known him, Erik barely even raised his voice at her. Hearing the rage in his voice and the sheer power of his presence as it filled the room… frightened her beyond words…

"**Surprised to hear from me?**" the Phantom asked, his malicious tone echoing in the room. "**The Opera Ghost will never stop haunting you!**"

"Oh, Erik!" Margaret whispered. "What are you doing?"

"**Your theatre is in trouble**," the Phantom continued. "**Did I not warn you not to trust the composer? You know well the financial loss in having to stop a show mid-production!**"

Margaret knew he was telling the truth. Having to stop the production of LaForte's opera had resulted in the Populaire suffering a substantial loss. The managers had been pacing all week, trying to figure out what to do. If they did not find a new opera to produce, and soon, the theatre was sure to lose tens of thousands in francs.

"**You have no choice but to follow my orders, now. Your only option is turn to me… and my opera…**"

Margaret's heart nearly stopped dead. Surely he didn't mean…?

"**Show my masterpiece, _Don Juan Triumphant_! You have no other choice!**"

"Oh no," Margaret whispered. This couldn't be happening!

But it was what the Phantom said next that truly caught her off guard.

"**I will hand over the score on one condition… The starring role must be given to Miss Margaret de Chagny…**"


	17. Don Juan's Lover

**_NOTE FROM ANGEL:_ Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter up. As you can guess, Mayla and I have been busy at school. Unfortunately in November, I was diagnosed with Tourette's Syndrome and put on a medication that made me sick and lethargic all the time. This made it difficult for me to get my own coursework done, let alone write fanfiction. Kudos to Mayla for helping me in my part of the writing and ultimately saving this chapter. Ya'll give her cookies now. So, my friends, _Memories of Angels_ is back! Sit back, relax, and enjoy the new chapter!**

**_17. Don Juan's Lover_**

"No, no, and no!" Raoul shouted in the managers' office. "I will not see my sister paraded about on the stage like a painted fool! She's above all that!"

The managers exchanged nervous glances as Margaret sat watching quietly from a chair in the corner of their office. After the Phantom's announcement, Raoul had grabbed Margaret and pulled her from Box Five into Firmin and Andre's office, where the two men were already waiting. An argument ensued from there.

"Please, Vicomte," Andre said. "The Phantom is right… We lost a lot of money from having the cancel Monsieur LaForte's opera. If we don't produce a new opera, and soon, we'll lose thousands!" Andre stared at the floor. "We'll end up having to lay off many of our employees…"

"It won't take much to construct the set," Firmin put in. "Much of it was spared from the fire… He's not even asking us to pay him for the score! All we have to do is…" Firmin trailed off and glanced at Margaret.

"Why don't we just put on _Hannibal_ again?" Raoul demanded. "Or _Faust_ or _The Magic Flute_?"

Andre sighed. "_Everyone_ has seen those operas… To draw in _really_ good audiences and make any kind of profit, we need something new… something fresh…"

"And considering who the composer is," Firmin added, "I think we can expect the Populaire to be packed on opening night. You know, gossip's worth its weight in gold!"

"I nearly lost my wife to that man!" Raoul sputtered furiously.

"We'll take every precaution, I assure you!"

"Police, guards, everything…"

"Your sister will be perfectly safe!"

"Produce his opera if you're so intent on it!" Raoul growled. "But whatever your choice may be, my sister will have no part of it!"

"But Monsieur, if we disobey the Phantom–"

"My sister was not made for prancing around on a stage for the amusement of others! She is of noble birth! The Phantom only wishes to disgrace the de Chagny name and make me look like a fool!"

"But Monsieur," Andre whispered. "You know very well what the Phantom will do if we do not do as he asks… We cannot afford anymore disasters…"

"I will _not_ humiliate my sister like that!"

"Then allow me to wear a disguise!"

Raoul glanced at Margaret, who spoke for the first time since he brought her into the office.

"Excuse me?" Raoul said.

"It'll be easy! I'll wear a mask! And we can change my name in the program. No one will ever know it is me, and we won't have to worry about upsetting the Phantom!"

"It's too dangerous!" Raoul protested.

"What is dangerous about it?" Margaret scoffed. "I'll put on a revealing costume and prance around the stage going **_la-la-la-la-la_**!"

"You've never sung a day in your life!"

"Christine can teach me."

"Are you _daft_?"

Margaret smiled sweetly at Firmin and Andre. "I'll gladly sing in your performance."

"Margaret, no!" Raoul cried. "I forbid this!"

"You cannot stop me, Raoul!" Margaret snapped as she turned to glare at him. "I'm not a child! It's time you stopped treating me like one! And it's time I started making my own choices!"

Raoul opened his mouth, then closed it. He couldn't believe that his sister was actually defying him!

"Margaret…" Raoul said softy. "You've changed…" He sighed. "Do what you will, then… But understand that I do not support you in the least…"

Raoul walked out of the office. His words had stung. But Margaret was not going to change her mind.

She was going to sing the Phantom's opera… _Erik's_ opera… and nothing was going to stop her.

"Mademoiselle?" Firmin said awkwardly. "What name shall we have printed in the program?"

Margaret looked at the floor. The answer was obvious.

"Margaret Destler."

XxXxX

Margaret winced as her voice cracked.

"It's alright, Margaret," Christine assured her. "That's what these warm-ups are for."

"Margaret sighed. "I'll never be ready in time! Perhaps Raoul is right. I have no business in the Arts."

"Never mind what Raoul says," Christine said firmly. "Your voice is beautiful. With a little work, you'll be a perfect Aminta." She paused and circled round Margaret. "Stand up straighter… Put your shoulders back… Posture is half the battle…"

Margaret did as she was told.

"Now take a deep breath in…"

Margaret sucked in through her mouth and her shoulders lifted.

"No, into your belly," Christine corrected. "Not your chest."

Margaret exhaled and sighed in frustration. "That's impossible!"

"It is not," Christine retorted. "The Phant–" she broke off. "I mean… Erik taught me how to do it… and I'm going to teach you everything _he_ taught me…"

Margaret sighed. "I wish he were here right now… Wouldn't it be wonderful if he were to play Don Juan again? I'd give anything to sing with him again."

"You sang together a lot?" Christine asked.

Margaret looked distant as she recalled the past. "Yes… our nights were always filled with music…"

XxXxX

"_**Never knew I could feel like this,**" Erik called to her in song. "**It's like I've never seen the sky before. Want to vanish inside your kiss. Everyday I love you more and more. Listen to my heart, can you hear it sing? Telling me to give you everything! Seasons may change, winter to spring. But I love you until the end of time…**"_

_Erik held out his hand and helped her up from her seat on the floor beside his piano._

"_**Come what may,**" he sang. "**Come what may… I will love you until my dying day!**"_

_Margaret smiled as she sang his song from her heart. "**Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place. Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace.**"_

_Erik's voice intertwined with hers. "**Suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste!**"_

_Margaret looked deep into his eyes. "**It all revolves around you.**"_

"_**And that's no mountain too high,**" they sang to each other. "**No river too wide. Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side. Storm clouds may gather, and stars may collide**_**…**_"_

"_**But I love you,**" said Erik._

"_**I love you,**" Margaret echoed him._

"_**Until the end of time,**" they finished together. "** Come what may**_**…_ Come what may_…_ I will love you until my dying day! Oh, come what may_…_ Come what may_…_ I will love you_…**_"_

"_**Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place,**" Margaret sang softly._

"_**Come what may,**" their voices joined once more. "**Come what may… I will love you until my dying day!**"_

"_Your voice is so beautiful," Erik whispered as their song faded away._

"_Oh, you flatterer!" Margaret laughed. "I can't sing_…_"_

"_You can so," Erik retorted. "I could show you your full potential_…_ Why don't you let me show you?"_

"_Raoul would never allow that," Margaret said quickly. "I'm an aristocrat_…_ It's acceptable for me to appreciate the Arts, but I must never show an active interest in such things_…_"_

_Erik sighed. "I truly pity your brother_…_"_

_Margaret looked at him. "Why?"_

"_He doesn't know the joy of music_…_"_

XxXxX

_The following day_…

Madame Giry made her way down to the Phantom's lair late in the afternoon, a bag of groceries in her arms. She sighed when she found him resting on the swan bed.

"You aren't strong to be running around causing scenes like that," she scolded him. "Look at you! You can barely lift your head!"

The Phantom glared at her. "I had a trying night, Madame… I just need some rest…" He paused. "What decision has been reached?"

Madame Giry put the groceries down. "Margaret will sing… But she'll be wearing a mask and adopting a pseudonym… The Vicomte doesn't want anyone to know that one of his relatives is participating in the Arts…"

"Typical," the Phantom muttered. "What are they going to call her?"

"Margaret Destler," she answered simply.

The Phantom looked up at her. "Is that so?" His expression seemed disappointed.

"Yes."

The Phantom sighed. No matter what he did, Margaret's heart would always belong to Erik Destler. His efforts were useless…

He'd saved her life, for Heaven's sake! On multiple occasions! Didn't that count for something?

"What about LaForte?" the Phantom asked.

"He's being held until trial… The evidence is strong… It's likely that he will be convicted…"

"Good riddance."

Madame Giry paused. "Will you be venturing up to observe the rehearsals?"

"No," the Phantom answered as he placed a hand over his still-sore wound. "I'd like to wait until opening night to hear her sing… Make it special…"

"Why did you want her to sing in the first place?"

"You thought I'd want La Rosa to sing my work?" the Phantom laughed humourlessly, then groaned and clutched his side as the vibration sent shooting pain through his body.

"You haven't been resting," Madame Giry said disapprovingly. "Your wound hasn't been healing…"

"It's healing!" the Phantom retorted. "But such things take time. It wasn't exactly a minor cut!"

Madame Giry shook her head. "If you don't stop this foolishness, you'll end up causing yourself more harm! That wound could be come infected! Or worse, it could reopen!"

"That's not going to happen, Madame," the Phantom said patronizingly.

Madame Giry stomped her foot and sputtered in frustration. "Fine! But when I come down here and find you need a re-stitching, believe me when I say that I won't let you hear the end of it!"

"Are you finished?" the Phantom asked uninterestedly.

Madame Giry glared at him a moment longer. Then she stalked out of the lair.

"_If Margaret loses you again,_" she thought, "_I will never forgive you for the grief you'll cause her!_"

XxXxX

"Dinnertime, Monsieur," the prison guard said mockingly as he opened LaForte's cell door and shoved a bowl of gruel into his hands.

LaForte scowled at the contents of the bowl. "You call this food?"

"I didn't cook it."

LaForte poked it with his finger. "It's cold."

"Bon appetite."

"Can I have a newspaper at least?"

"This isn't a hotel, Monsieur!"

LaForte set his bowl down and grasped the bars of his cell. "Listen. I shouldn't be here. This is all just a big misunderstanding. You'll see. I'm a very wealthy man." He glanced around his cell. "This is only temporary. All I ask is that my stay be made a little more comfortable while I'm stuck here waiting for this whole mess to be sorted out!"

"An innocent man, eh?" the guard sneered. "You know what? That man a few cells down from you was found standing over a dead body with a bloody knife in his hand… but he's innocent, too!"

LaForte scowled. "All I want's a newspaper," he said begrudgingly.

The guard rolled his eyes and shoved a paper through the bars. "If it will shut you up."

"I'll see you demoted when I get out of here," LaForte said under his breath as he sat down.

"What was that?" the guard growled.

"What fine service they provide in here!"

LaForte slumped in his seat as he opened the newspaper. Not much was going on in the city, from what he read. A new general store was opening soon and there were a few wedding and birth announcements.

He flipped over to the second page, where a bold headline caught his eye…

"**POPULAIRE SCHEDULED TO SHOW PHANTOM'S OPERA!**"

"What's this?" LaForte muttered to himself as he began to read…

"_What was meant to be a peaceful night at the Opera Populaire turned into an evening of shock and horror for the patrons of last night's opera, _Hannibal_. The alleged Phantom of the Opera, presumed dead after nearly a year of silence, has emerged once again_…

"_Following the cancellation of the new opera, _La Feu du Conquérant_ by Dominique LaForte, the managers of the Opera Populaire were desperately searching for an answer to their financial dilemma_…_ The Phantom, who supposedly has been alive and well for all this time since the Great Disaster of 1871, stepped out of the shadows in a dramatic appearance at last night's opera. He seemed to waste no time in coming up with a solution for the desperate theatre._

"_Therefore, the Opera Populaire announces that it will perform the Ghost's prized opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_, as its next major production. Starring as the title character will be the theatre's own Marc Arago, the new leading tenor after the accidental death of Ubaldo Piangi_…_ The lead female character will be carried by a new, unknown diva by the name of Margaret Destler_…"

"Margaret Destler," LaForte said aloud, recognizing the two names. Realization suddenly dawned on him. "That _slut_!"

LaForte got the impression from his brief encounter with the Phantom that the ghost had feelings for Margaret de Chagny… It would be just like him to request the object of his attentions to star in his masterpiece!

But the Vicomte would not want his reputation tainted like that – with his sister prancing around on the stage like a painted whore. No doubt he would insist that a different name be printed in the papers…

No doubt she would take the name of her dead fiancé…

"They won't get away with this," LaForte growled. "The Vicomte, Margaret, and that _Phantom_ are going to learn quickly that they chose the wrong man to toy with!"

XxXxX

"I want two of your best men stationed at the front doors of the Populaire on opening night," Raoul told the police chief. "Then I want four at the top of the staircase… Two at every entrance into the auditorium… Three at backstage right, and another three at backstage left… I want one more posted at my sist – er, Miss Destler's dressing room door…"

"What about the catwalks?" the police chief asked.

Raoul shook his head. "No. If something happened that one of your men had to fire, it would be too risky to Miss Destler's safety."

"Who are we watching for, here?"

"The Opera Ghost, Monsieur…"

The police chief gave him a funny look. "I thought he was dead…"

Raoul sighed. "Not nearly as dead as we thought… I don't know what he's planning, but I can feel it in my gut that he's up to something… I intend to find out what…"

XxXxX

Margaret sat on the bed in her dressing room, Christine beside her. They had just finished an hour of practice. _Don Juan_'s opening was only a few nights away and Margaret was feeling a bit excited.

"You were really good that time." Christine told her, smiling. Her words made Margaret blush.

"Thanks, I just hope he likes it." Margaret stood up and looked at the mirror. "It's hard to believe this is the mirror he used." She looked down, and then looked at Christine. "Maybe he heard me before, when I came here."

Christine tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"One night, before LaForte tried to…" She stopped a moment. "Before that, I was on my way to my room and I saw him in the hall, so I hid in here. I was scared, I admit, not knowing who Erik… the Phantom… really was. I sang our song… Perhaps he heard me? If he was about to use the mirror, but didn't…" Christine looked at her, urging her to continue her thoughts. "Maybe I was chosen for my singing," Margaret laughed lightly. "I know it is silly, a chance meeting, and not knowing. How often does that happen?"

Christine sighed. "It's not silly. You know, I have yet to hear the original version of Erik's song. Why don't you sing it for me?" Margaret nodded and started to sing, and as she did all Christine could think was how amazingly Margaret's impression must have been, how strong the words were, and so true for such a love, for she couldn't help but think of herself and Raoul. At the same time, Margaret's voice was wonderful.

XxXxX

Madame Giry happened to pass the room in which both Margaret and Christine were. She stopped because she wanted to hear Margaret's progress.

"You know, I have yet to hear the original version of Erik's song," she heard Christine say. "Why don't you sing it for me?"

Madame Giry listened as Margaret sang the song; she knew which song Christine referred to. And when Margaret finished, Madame Giry had only one thought. "You must love her so much to write words like those, Erik," she said quietly as she continued down the hall.


	18. Plans

4

_**18. Plans**_

Margaret stood alone on the roof, looking out over the city. It was the night before the performance. This time tomorrow night, she would step onto the stage of the Populaire to sing Erik's opera. She was incredibly nervous.

If only Erik could remember her. Remember _them_. He would have been here, offering her encouragement and support. He wouldn't have let her step onto that stage until every fear, every doubt, every anxiety had been abated. He was so wonderful that way. She could always depend on him to be there for her.

Now it seemed he was there for her again… so near and yet so far…

"_I promise you, Erik,_" she thought silently. "_I won't give up until you remember us_."

XxXxX

The Phantom grunted in pain as he slipped his shirt off and went to the mirror. Turning his body slightly, he took a look at the wound in his side. It didn't look very good. Red in colour and slightly puffy. He should have spent more time resting. But he couldn't rest right now. There was so much left to do and so little time to do it. He winced and put his shirt and jacket back on.

His head was hurting more so than usual. The walls of his lair seemed to be closing in on him. He needed to get out. Rubbing his temple, he put on his cloak and started up to the roof.

XxXxX

Margaret shivered as the air grew colder. The wind picked up, grey rain clouds rolled in, and soon enough the rain began to fall. Margaret knew she should go in and take shelter. If she stayed out in this storm she was sure to get sick – not a good thing for the diva the night before opening night. But she couldn't resist lingering out there, welcoming the cool rain on her face, the wind in her hair, smiling as it reminded her of the night she met Erik. She could almost hear his voice calling to her through the dead of the night, calling her back to him.

"_**There were nights when the winds were so cold that my body froze in bed if I just listened to it right outside the window. There were days when the sun was so cruel that all the tears turned to dust and I just knew my eyes were drying up forever.**_**"**

She absently began humming his song as she stood there getting soaked by the rain.

XxXxX

The Phantom pushed open the door to the roof and swore under his breath when he saw it was raining. It seemed he wasn't going to get any fresh air after all. He was about to turn around and go back inside when a soft sound reached his ears.

"_**There were moments of gold, and there were flashes of light. There were things we'd never do again, but then they always seemed right. There were nights of endless pleasure, it was more than any laws allow.**_**"**

It was the de Chagny girl! What was she doing out here at this time of night? And in the rain? Didn't she realize that she could get sick? She should be resting! She had a big day tomorrow!

"Miss de Chagny?"

Margaret jumped in surprise and whirled around. It was difficult to see through the darkness and rain, but she could make out a tall shadowed figure standing a few yards away. She didn't need to see his face to know who it was. She'd recognize his voice anywhere.

"It's you," she whispered.

The Phantom took a few steps towards. "I apologize if I startled you."

"No," Margaret assured him. "I'm glad you're here."

She couldn't make out the expression on his face, and he didn't speak for a moment.

"You need to come indoors," he said finally. "You'll catch your death. We can't have our diva getting sick the night before opening night, now can we?"

He closed the distance between them and removed his cloak and dropped it onto her shoulders. The next thing Margaret knew, he had an arm around her shoulders and was ushering her inside.

Margaret felt like her heart would burst, her emotion was so great. Here he was, the love of her life… so close and yet so far… Once more, he was giving her shelter from the freezing rain and the blowing winds…

He brought her indoors and Margaret could finally see him clearly. His face, or at least that which was not concealed by his mask, was a bit drawn and every so often he would wince.

"How are you feeling?" Margaret asked, concerned. All this time and he was still in pretty bad shape? She should have known. Erik never liked staying in bed when he was sick, even when it was clear that he needed the rest.

"I feel fine."

Erik had always been a terrible liar, too.

"I was worried about you," Margaret told him.

"You needn't worry about me," the Phantom said. "You have much more important things to concern yourself with."

"I think your health is important," she replied.

The Phantom paused. "I thank you for your concern… but I am fine…"

She looked down and fidgeted with her hands. "I'm sorry about the other night… for sitting in your seat…"

He seemed surprised. "That was you?"

She nodded.

He sighed. "It's alright. I don't mind that it was you."

She looked up into his clear blue eyes. "You don't?"

He said nothing for a while. His expression was unreadable. "Go to Madame Giry's room," he told her. "You need to get dried off before you get sick."

He then turned without another word and disappeared down a corridor, leaving her by herself.

XxXxX

Christine had just changed into a nightgown and let loose her chocolate curls. Then she crawled into the extravagant bed that she shared with Raoul. Raoul, however, was still in his shirt and trousers, pacing restlessly.

"Darling, come to bed," she pleaded.

"Not tired," he muttered.

"Raoul, you're going to wear a spot in the carpet!"

"Then I'll pay for a new one."

Christine sighed. "You need your rest, love. You've been working non-stop for weeks now. You're exhausted."

"I can't sleep."

"Because of the opera?"

"Yes, because of the opera!" he said none-to-gently. "Whenever the Phantom sticks his nose into Opera Populaire's business, bad things happen! He's planning something! I just don't know what it is yet."

"He protected your sister. Maybe he's changed."

"What if he hasn't? What if this whole performance is just a ruse to…?"

"To what?"

Raoul turned to look at her. "To steal you away again?"

"That's what you're afraid of? Why didn't you just say so? I could have told you that that's never going to happen."

"How can you be so sure? He tried it once."

"Well, if it makes you feel better I just won't go anywhere unaccompanied."

"That hardly puts my mind at ease."

"Trust me. Nothing bad is going to happen to me. You'll see. Now come to bed."

Raoul sighed and took off his shirt and went to lie next to his wife.

"Margaret's really improved with her singing. She'll sound beautiful tomorrow night. I know you'll be proud."

Raoul scoffed. "Maybe this whole performance is just the Phantom's way of embarrassing me."

XxXxX

"Help me out, good sir," LaForte pleaded with one of the guards at the jail. "Just let me out to stretch my legs."

"Do I look like a fool to you?" the guard demanded, crossing his arms.

"I've told you, already, I'm an innocent man!"

"I've told you already, that's for a judge to decide!"

LaForte grasped the bars. "I'm a powerful man, and I can make your life Hell!"

"I'm shaking in my boots," the guard replied sarcastically.

"I'm giving you one last chance," LaForte hissed. "Let me out!"

The guard sneered and leaned forward. "Or what?"

Without warning LaForte thrust his hand through the bars and grabbed the guard by the collar, yanking him forward. The man's head made hard contact with the bars and he went limp. LaForte smirked and took the man's keys off of him, unlocking the cell. He took the guard's uniform jacket off of him and slipped it on, then locked him inside the cell and headed out of the jail. Dressed in the guard's uniform, he could leave without being noticed. He breathed a big breath of fresh air as he stepped out into the streets. Free. He was free.

Tomorrow night, Margaret de Chagny would sing the Phantom's opera. And LaForte intended to be there. He didn't come this far to lose now. No… this time tomorrow night, Margaret de Chagny would be leaving the Opera Populaire on his arm, and no one was going to stop him. Not this time.


	19. Opening Night

**Angel****: Hey, sorry for the long wait…**

**Erik****: Oh, you mean the four-year lapse where you sat around twiddling your thumbs?**

**Angel****: But I–**

**Erik****: You should bless Mayla for being so patient. If I were her, I would have killed you three years ago.**

**Angel****: B-but, school! And, and my work!**

**Erik****: How many times do I have to tell you? Writing trumps Life.**

**Angel****: ***_**Hangs head in shame**_*****

**Erik****: Enjoy the chapter. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to kill Angel now.**

**Angel****: Wait, what?**

_**1**__**9. Opening Night**_

Margaret winced as Madame Giry pulled the strings of her corset tight. She wasn't so sure how she was going to be able to sing when she could barely breathe. As Madame Giry struggled with the corset strings, Christine was busy applying tons of make-up to Margaret's lower face and lips while Meg fussed with her hair. By the time they were done, Margaret really did feel like a painted whore.

"There," Christine said, putting Margaret's black mask on as the finishing touch while Madame Giry tied off the corset strings and Meg gave Margaret's hair one last tousle. "Go look in the mirror."

Margaret went to the large mirror in the corner of the Prima Donna's dressing room. She gasped at the transformation. The dress was very short and very revealing, with a simple yellow see-through shawl as her only coverage. The lace straps were very thin and kept falling off of her shoulders. Her hair was dishevelled, the only thing keeping it out of her face being a simple red head sash. Not to mention the make-up on the lower half of her face looked like it had been caked on with a spoon. Aside from the mask, she really did look like a street viper!

"You look very nice!" Meg said.

"Does the make-up have to be so… heavy?" Margaret asked meekly.

"It's stage make-up," Madame Giry explained. "It's so that the people in the back can see your lovely lips move."

Margaret unconsciously pulled at the hem of her dress, as if trying to make it longer. She was beginning to understand why Raoul was embarrassed to have his sister seen on the stage. If their parents had been alive to see her in such a get-up, they surely would have disowned her. But she had made a choice. She wanted to sing Erik's opera. Maybe somehow, some way, she could help him remember…

"You're on in half an hour," Madame Giry said. "Is there anything else you need?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Thank you all… for everything you've done…"

Christine gave Margaret's shoulder a squeeze and gave her one last encouraging smile. Then the three women filed out.

Margaret sighed and turned to the mirror, touching the glass. It was opening night tonight. She was nervous, trembling like a leaf, and feeling very insecure in her skimpy bit of a dress. If only Erik were there to tell her that, somehow, everything would be alright.

XxXxX

LaForte pulled his beret low on his head, attempting to shadow his face as he approached the Opera Populaire. The place was crawling with gendarmes and he didn't want to be recognized. He was hoping that the uniform he had stolen from the guard would help him to pass through undetected. He held his breath as he passed the queue and slipped through the large double doors.

"Oi!" a voice shouted. "Who're you?"

LaForte froze in his tracks as a large man in an officer's uniform approached him. "Constable Smith, sir," he said calmly.

"I've never heard o' you," the officer said bluntly.

"I'm new."

"Who sent ya?"

"The chief of police sent me… from the prison… said you needed back-up…"

"Did he, now? Back-up arrived half an hour ago!"

LaForte was in a panic. He was going to blow his cover! "I… I got lost on my way here… I'm new in Paris…"

The officer rolled his eyes. "Idiot! D'ya need a map to find your way backstage, or do I have to take ya there by the hand?"

"I can find my way," LaForte said, hiding a triumphant smirk.

"Move on, then! The performance is soon to start!"

LaForte headed for the backstage area, chuckling darkly. "_No, Monsieur,_" he thought. "_Tis you who are the idiot._"

XxXxX

The Phantom winced in slight pain as he climbed the rafters above backstage-right. Part of him was certain that he had completely lost his mind. Just getting dressed for tonight had been an ordeal, with his partially healed wound giving him a great deal of pain. He had to be crazy to think he could climb around in the rafters in his condition.

Not to mention everything else he had planned for tonight…

It was almost time… He just had to stay there and wait just a little while longer…

XxXxX

Raoul returned to Box Five after having made certain that everything was ready. Every guard was at his post – twice the number of guards as when Christine had sung in this opera. If the Phantom showed his masked mug tonight, he would certainly be caught.

"Is everything ready?" Christine asked as he sat next to her.

"As ready as they'll ever be," he murmured, gazing out at the rest of the auditorium. As expected, the theatre was packed to maximum capacity. Firmin was right – gossip was worth its weight in gold.

"I'll never understand the collective morbidity of opera-goers," Raoul muttered.

Christine slipped her hand into his and smiled. "Hush, now… the show will be starting soon…"

XxXxX

LaForte took his post at backstage-left. The Phantom would be here tonight. That much was certain. And when he showed his face, he would be ready. The human spectre had interfered with his plans one too many times. He would deal with the Opera Ghost, and then there would be no one left to protect Margaret from him.

All that was left for him now was to wait for the masked maniac to appear.

XxXxX

Suddenly, the orchestra blasted out the first chords to the opening number. The curtain rose and the actors and dancers moved to their positions. The Phantom had surprisingly little interest in his own work. He was anticipating Margaret's appearance. He'd yet to hear her sing his work, and he couldn't wait. He just knew she would be spectacular. Perhaps her voice wouldn't have the same professional training that Christine's had had, but that didn't matter to him, oddly enough.

It would be amazing simply because it was her…

XxXxX

As Margaret took her position backstage, props masters rushed forward and thrust a basket and some roses into her arms. She was supposed to de-thorn them while she waited for Don Juan to make his entrance. Attendants were swarming her and making the final tiny adjustments to her hair and costume. As the seconds ticked closer to her entrance, her nerves started to get the better of her.

"Meg, I don't think I can do this!" she whispered urgently. What if she forgot her lines? What if she hit the wrong notes? What if she tripped and fell flat on her face?

"It's alright, Margaret," Meg assured her. Meg was made up in her gypsy costume. Margaret noticed that the seasoned ballerina didn't look nervous at all. She'd done this so many times that she probably didn't even notice the audience.

"I'm going to make a complete fool of myself!" Margaret lamented.

"No you won't," Meg insisted. "You know exactly what to do. You're ready."

"Oh, I… I wish that…" Margaret couldn't even bring herself to finish the sentence, but Meg knew what she meant. She wished that Erik were there to support her. He would have known the words she needed to hear.

Margaret looked up at the rafters, hoping to catch a glance of a shadow… a fluttering backdrop… anything that might confirm that he was up there, watching…

Madame Giry placed a hand on Margaret's shoulder. The leading lady looked into the ballet mistress's eyes and saw reassurance within them.

"Don't worry, my dear," the older woman said. "He is watching. I guarantee it."

XxXxX

The Phantom slipped down from the rafters and hid in the shadows of the abandoned backstage area. Don Juan would make his exit soon, while Aminta would enter and sing her opening lines.

The Phantom recalled the last time he had done this. Last time, a man died for his plans. But nothing so gruesome would happen this night. Somehow, over the last few months since the mysterious noble girl appeared in his theatre, the Opera Ghost had changed. Where there was once a black void of despair, a man's heart now beat strongly.

The Phantom of the Opera had become too human to kill…

"_**Here's my hat, my cloak, and sword. Conquest is assured, if I do not forget myself and laugh!**_**"** the Don Juan on stage sang powerfully. With a flourish, he turned and exited behind the curtains.

Now was the Phantom's only chance.

While the Don Juan adjusted his costume, he didn't notice a large figure emerge from the shadows. He didn't suspect a thing, until a terrifying voice whispered in his ear…

"You're fired, Monsieur…"

Before he had a second to protest, there was a sharp pain at the back of his head and he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

XxXxX

Margaret clutched the basket of roses tightly as she stepped out onto the stage. Desperately trying to calm her racing pulse, she tried to remember everything Christine had taught her.

"_Shoulders back_… _Head high_… _Breathe into the belly_…"

The orchestra played the opening strains of her song, so she opened her mouth and tried to keep her voice from quivering.

"**_No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy… No dreams within her heart but dreams of love…_"**

XxXxX

Christine was highly pleased with Margaret's progress. She was nearly flawless with her delivery. Considering how little time they had had to rehearse, Margaret had pulled it off beautifully.

Raoul wasn't entirely sure how to react. At first, he was appalled to see how his little sister was dressed. With that skimpy slip of a dress, she looked like a common prostitute. How their parents must be rolling in their graves at that very moment! All he could think was thank goodness she was wearing a mask!

But then she started to sing. Raoul hadn't known that she was so talented. Her voice was not as refined as Christine's was, but it was still quite pretty. Definitely a thousand times better than La Carlotta or La Rosa or anyone else in the chorus. As he sat there listening, he felt that it was almost a shame that her social standing would prevent her from ever pursuing a career in opera. With some training, she could have been a big sensation.

Raoul wondered briefly if Margaret had ever received any previous training from her late fiancé. But he quickly put all thought of that man from his mind and looked on attentively at the scene unfolding upon the stage.

XxXxX

The Phantom listened from his place backstage, enchanted by the young woman's voice. Yes, it was clear that she lacked formal training, but that wasn't important. Her voice sounded sweet… innocent… Just as he had envisioned Aminta to be when he was writing this opera.

He was glad he had waited until tonight to hear her sing his work. It made the moment so much more memorable to him… So much more precious…

He gingerly placed a hand to his wound when he felt a slight twinge of pain. He knew he was crazy for doing this… especially after what happened last time… but he couldn't stop thinking about her. Tonight, the story would end differently. Tonight, she would know how he truly felt. Tonight, he would never be alone again.

"It's time," he whispered.

XxXxX

Unbeknownst to anyone else, another individual was watching Margaret in secret. A much more sinister gaze looked on lustfully, under the guise of a simple gendarme. No one knew that he, too, had plans for the diva. Once a successful composer who was respected by all, the man's desires had driven him to madness. Now he would even stoop to murder and risk the noose, all in the name of pursuing the one thing that had remained beyond his reach…

_Her_.

"Prepare yourself, Miss de Chagny," LaForte muttered. "After tonight, your life will never be the same again."

XxXxX

**Erik: Alas, poor Angel… I knew her, phangirls.**


	20. It's All Coming Back

_**20**__**. It's All Coming Back**_

The Phantom was so enthralled by Margaret that he nearly missed his cue. As he stepped out on stage, he could barely contain his nervousness. Strange, he had never felt stage-fright before…

Perhaps it wasn't stage-fright at all… Perhaps it was… something else entirely…

"_**Master,**_**"** Passarino sang, bowing to him.

"**_Passarino… Go away, for the trap is set and waits for its prey…_"**

He turned and saw her sitting just a short distance away. She was wearing a black mask that was similar to his own, but he recognized her easily. There was something in the way that she held herself… like a timid doe – graceful, yet cautious. He had come to know her mannerisms intimately…

Almost as though he had known them before… a long, long time ago…

"**_You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge. In pursuit of that wish, which till now has been silent…_"**

Margaret's eyes widened. She knew that voice! She knew that powerful tenor! She turned to look at him, and she recognized those stormy eyes. Her mouth fell agape. He had come… He was _here_!

The Phantom saw the recognition in her eyes and placed a finger over his lips as a signal not to alert anyone to his identity.

"**_Silent…_"**

Margaret nodded almost imperceptibly at his sung command. But now she was _really_ nervous. Just what did he intend to do? Did he remember her or not? What was his purpose for arranging this meeting upon the stage?

"**_I have brought you, that our passions may fuse and merge. In your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defences, completely succumbed to me…_"**

Margaret shivered. His voice sounded so… dark… filled with the promise of passion and pleasure… She couldn't tear her eyes off of him as he slowly advanced on her.

"**_Now you are here with me… No second thoughts… You've decided…_"**

Her skin tingled at the raw passion in his voice. It was an oh-so-familiar feeling… She remembered those nights at his cottage, all those years ago, when his voice alone could make goosebumps appear on her flesh. After all this time, he still had the power to render her helpless with nothing more than his celestial voice.

"**_Decided…_"**

"_Please, Erik,_" she thought silently. "_Show me the man I loved… the man I still love… Cast aside this Phantom disguise you've constructed for yourself and show me who you used to be… The man who could laugh so easily… The man who was so kind and gentle, and thought only of others… I want things to be the way they used to be…_"

The Phantom's grey-blue eyes locked with hers as he advanced upon her slowly, like a lion stalking an unsuspecting gazelle.

"**_Past the point of no return. No backward glances. Our games of make-believe are at an end._"**

Margaret watched him unblinkingly as he slowly circled her. How she had dreamed of hearing him sing for her again… Only for her…

"**_Past all thought of 'if' or 'when.' No use resisting. Abandon thought and let the dream descend._"**

Margaret stifled a cry when he suddenly and roughly grabbed her and pulled her fully against him. His voice became downright guttural as he became more physical.

"**_What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us?_"**

Margaret turned to face him and was shocked by the raging fire in his stormy gaze. If only he knew the effect his voice, eyes, and hands had on her…

"**_Past the point of no return. The final threshold. What warm, unspoken secrets will we learn beyond the point of no return?_"**

XxXxX

Christine's heart was pounding as she watched the scene from the comfort of Box Five. She, too, recognized that voice. His graceful movements were unmistakable as well. Once again, the Phantom was singing in his own opera. To what end, Christine could only guess. Did he truly intend to whisk Margaret away at the conclusion, as he had done with her? Or did he have some other purpose?

Only one thing was clear to her… The Phantom was just as enthralled with Margaret as she was with him. His actions seemed driven not by jealous desperation, but by the simple need to be near the one who so enchanted him. Somewhere deep down, Christine knew, his heart remembered Margaret.

Beside her, Raoul was leaning forward in his seat, staring at the stage.

"That's not Marc," he whispered. "Oh God, how could I have been so stupid? He's after _her_! All this time he's been after _her_!" He started to stand up.

"Where are you going?" Christine cried as she grabbed his hand.

"To call a guard, of course!" Raoul answered. "I have to stop him!"

"Wait, Raoul! No!" Christine pulled him back. "Wait! Don't be hasty!"

"Don't be hasty?" Raoul repeated. "Are you crazy? I'm not going to let him take her!"

"Raoul, please just trust me!" Christine begged of him. "Please! I… I know something that you don't…"

Raoul looked at his wife, an uncertain expression on his face. "What do you mean, you know something I don't?"

"I'll explain soon, I promise," Christine said. "Just please understand… Margaret is not in any danger…"

"Christine… If you're wrong…"

"I wouldn't try to stop you if I wasn't certain, Raoul!"

After several moments' hesitation, Raoul reluctantly returned to his seat and directed his gaze out at the stage as his sister began to sing.

XxXxX

Margaret's heart was pounding loudly in her ears. Her mouth had gone dry as the Sahara. With great effort, she managed to force her lines from her mouth…

"**_You have brought me to that moment where words run dry. To that moment where speech disappears into silence… silence…_"**

The Phantom listened intently. He was so tempted to reach out and take her hand… push a stray lock of blonde hair from her face… stroke his fingers against her cheek… Any kind of physical contact would do. Anything to quell his temptation and ease her nervousness…

"**_I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why. In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenceless and silent._"**

For a moment, he seriously considered foregoing the formalities and just grabbing her and running off to his lair together. Then he could tell her everything he always wanted to tell her… How they were meant for each other… How he needed her with him… How he wanted to sing with her forever…

"**_Now I am here with you… No second thoughts… I've decided…_"**

The Phantom abandoned his previous chain of thought. No, he wasn't going to drag her off. He would see this performance through to the end. She meant too much to him. He would never commit such a wrong against her as he had with Christine.

"**_Decided…_"**

These feelings… Why did it feel like he'd always had them? Why did he feel like he'd sung with her before? Why did he feel like he'd known her for years?

"**_Past the point of no return. No going back now. Our passion play has now, at last, begun. Past all thought of right or wrong. One final question… How long should we two wait before we're one?_"**

As she worked up towards the climax of the song, they began ascending the stairs to the archway over the stage. They were very nearly beyond the point of no return…

"**_When will the blood begin to race? The sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames, at last, consume us?_"**

At the top of the archway, they began moving towards each other, the orchestra thundering out the powerful conclusion. The Phantom's powerful voice entwined with Margaret's sweet one in a strange duet.

"**_Past the point of no return. The final threshold. The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn. We've passed the point of no return…_"**

The Phantom pulled the noble girl to him and she buried her face into his shoulder. It was a most pleasant feeling, and one he was too familiar with. Softly stroking his fingers through her fine blonde hair, somehow he knew this wasn't the first time they'd been so close.

He closed his eyes. The thick veil of forgetfulness flickered and images started coming to him. A horse in a storm… a music box… a violin… a ring beneath the stars… and an opera that she inspired…

The Phantom opened his eyes and pulled away from her slightly. She looked up at him with those soft blue eyes of hers… such familiar eyes…

"M… Margaret…?" he whispered.

Upon hearing him say her name, she smiled widely. It was the first time he'd seen her smile since she'd come to his opera house, and it was every bit as beautiful as he imagined it would be.

And it was a smile he remembered…

XxXxX

Raoul couldn't believe his eyes. Margaret was… _smiling_! In four years, he'd never seen her so much as smirk, but now her face was aglow and her eyes shone with renewed life. She looked so… happy…

But there was something else about that smile. It was no regular smile. He'd only ever seen her smile like that for one person. The man whose death had extinguished the fire of her soul and left her as a dead spirit walking among the living.

But now that glow had returned, and she was sharing it with the last person he ever would have expected her to. How on Earth could such a man make her look so happy? Why was she looking at him the way she used to look at…?

Raoul's eyes widened as he finally saw what had been in front of his nose the entire time.

"Destler?"

XxXxX

The Phantom could hardly believe it. He couldn't remember it a moment ago, but now he knew. He knew her, and he knew himself for the first time in years. Everything made sense now. He felt like he'd always loved her because he always did! Even in those dark years of loneliness and despair, some small part of him never forgot what they had shared.

Then the Phantom realized what he had to do…

"**_There were nights when the wind was so cold that my body froze in bed if I just listened to it, right outside the window. There were days when the sun was so cruel that all the tears turned to dust, and I just knew my eyes were drying up forever._"**

Margaret gasped as the Phantom took both of her hands into his. The words poured from his lips like sweet honey.

"**_I finished crying in the instant that you left. And I can't remember where or when or how._"**

She felt her heart bursting with emotion as he looked straight into her eyes…

"**_And I banished every memory you and I had ever made!_"**

"Dear Lord," Madame Giry whispered as she watched from the backstage area.

"Sweet Jesus," Christine murmured from her seat in Box Five.

Margaret stared in disbelief as the Phantom… Erik Destler… gazed at her with loving eyes. The rest of the world seemed to disappear as he continued to sing only for her.

"**_But when you touch me like this… and you hold me like that… I just have to admit that it's all coming back to me…_"**

He moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close so that she could hear his heart beat.

"_**When I touch you like this… and I hold you like that… It's so hard to believe, but it's all coming back to me. It's all coming back, it's all coming back to me now…**_**"  
**His voice began to call out to her heart as it had all those years ago in the storm-blackened night.

"**_There were moments of gold, and there were flashes of light. There were things I'd never do again, but then they'd always seemed right. There were nights of endless pleasure, it was more than any laws allow._"**

He turned her to face him so he could look into her eyes while he sang.

"_**Baby, baby, if I kiss you like this, and if you whisper like that… It was lost long ago, but it's all coming back to me! If you want me like this, and if you need me like that… It was dead long ago, but it's all coming back to me. It's so hard to resist, and it's all coming back to me. I can barely recall, but it's all coming back to me now!**_**"  
**It was all coming back to Margaret as well. The last four years of pain and heartache seemed to fade away, and she felt as though she'd never lost him at all. He was here with her… the way he'd always been… the way he would always be…

"_**But you were history with the slamming of the door. And I made myself so strong again somehow. And I never wasted any of my time on love since then…**_**"  
**He drew her near again as he lowered his voice to a near-whisper. He intimately brushed his fingers against her cheek as he continued the verse.

"**_But if I touch you like this… and if you kiss me like that… It was so long ago, but it's all coming back to me… If you touch me like this… and if I kiss you like that… It was gone with the wind, but it's all coming back to me. It's all coming back, it's all coming back to me now…_"**

Boldly, he cupped her face in both hands and drew her ever closer to him…

"**_There were moments of gold, and there were flashes of light. There were things we'd never do again, but then they'd always seemed right. There were nights of endless pleasure, it was more than all your laws allow._"**

His large, calloused hands took her tiny, soft ones and squeezed them gently as he sang straight from his soul.

"**_Baby, baby, baby, when you touch me like this, and when you hold me like that… It was gone with the wind, but it's all coming back to me! When you see me like this, and when I see you like that… Then we see what we want to see, all coming back to me! The flesh and the fantasies, all coming back to me! I can barely recall, but it's all coming back to me now!_"**

Beneath her mask, tears of joy slipped down Margaret's cheeks. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, never wanting to be separated from him again. She rested her cheek against his chest and listened to the steady beat of a heart that belonged completely to her. Erik stroked her silky hair as he continued softly…

"**_If you forgive me all this… If I forgive you all that… We forgive and forget, and it's all coming back to me… When you see me like this, and when I see you like that… We see just what we want to see, all coming back to me… The flesh and the fantasies, all coming back to me… I can barely recall, but it's all coming back to me now…_"**

"_**It's all coming back to me now…**_**" **Margaret sang softly in reply.

"_**When you kiss me like this…**_**"** Erik sang with a slight smile.

"_**It's all coming back to me now…**_**"** She lifted her head and stared into his eyes.

"_**When I touch you like that…**_**"** His large hand cupped her cheek.

"_**It's all coming back to me now…**_**"** Her heart rate increased as she anticipated what she knew was coming next.

"_**If you do it like this…**_**"** He leaned in close.

"_**It's all coming back to me now…**_**"** Her eyes fluttered shut as she raised her offered lips to him, hungry for his kiss.

"**_And if we…_"**

Erik cried out in horror when he felt his mask being ripped away from his face. The audience screamed in terror at the sight of his horrible visage.

Margaret cried out in a combination of confusion and overwhelming sorrow when she saw what had become of her beloved's handsome face. How painful it must have been! How much misery it must have brought him…

Erik whirled around and saw a gendarme behind him. But upon closer inspection, he saw that the man in the uniform was none other than Dominique LaForte.

LaForte held up the mask tauntingly. "She'll never love you now… now that she's seen what a hideous monster you are."

Erik snarled in fury and pushed Margaret back, out of harm's way. He had sworn never to kill again, but for this man he might just make an exception. He furiously kicked the switch that triggered the trapdoor, plunging himself and LaForte into the caverns beneath the auditorium.

Margaret looked up from where she had fallen just in time to see the men go down.

"No! Erik!" she screamed. She stumbled to her feet and tried to follow after them.

"Margaret, stop!" She felt strong hands grab her from behind. She turned around to see Raoul holding her back. The Vicomte had jumped up from his seat when he saw LaForte enter the scene and ran to where his sister was.

"Let me go, Raoul!" she cried. "He needs me!"

"I won't let you go down there!" he shouted. "There's nothing you can do!"

"You're wrong!" she shouted, tearing free from his arms. She whirled around to look at him. "You stopped me from helping him once, and I've regretted it ever since. I won't let you stop me again!" She shoved past him and descended the stairs as quickly as she could.

"Margaret!" Raoul cried after her. "Margaret!"

Ripping her mask off as she fled, Margaret ran for the entrance to the catacombs. But she had no idea where she would go from there. She didn't know how to navigate the labyrinth. But all she could think of was Erik, and how he needed her. She had to try to find them, no matter the cost!

She suddenly felt another hand grab her arm. She turned and looked into the face of Madame Giry.

"Don't you try to stop me either!" Margaret shouted. "I'm going after them!"

"I understand," Madame Giry replied. "But let me show you the way!"

Margaret paused, realization hitting her. Of course! Madame Giry knew the labyrinth almost as well as Erik did! If anyone knew the fastest route to her beloved, the ballet mistress would.

"Let's go!" Madame Giry said, taking her arm and leading her off.

Margaret nodded. "Please, hurry!" she pleaded. "I can't lose him again!"

XxXxX

Erik groaned in pain. The impact of his landing tore his stitches loose. He felt the wetness of blood beginning to seep through his bandages.

He looked around. Where had that bastard gotten to? He heard a slight movement to his left and ducked out of the way just as LaForte tried to punch him in the face.

Erik swung around and kicked LaForte in the back, sending the disgraced composer crashing to the ground. The cowardly man quickly scrambled to his feet and whirled to face the Phantom of the Opera.

Erik was weighing the situation in his mind. He was much larger and stronger than LaForte, and he could see better in the darkness of the catacombs. But the pain and slow blood loss was gradually weakening him. LaForte appeared to remain uninjured by the fall. If this conflict was not ended quickly, he would be in serious trouble.

"Damn you, Destler," LaForte muttered. "Damn you…"

Erik looked up. He knew his name?

"You're supposed to be dead," LaForte growled. "I thought that fire did you in… I should be so lucky…"

As Erik stared at his enemy, a new wave of memories came to him. His eyes widened in disbelief.

"You," he whispered. "I remember you…"


	21. The Point of No Return

_**21. The Point of No Return**_

"Quickly, now!" Madame Giry urged as she and Margaret hurried through the Labyrinth, a single lantern their only light in the darkness of the catacombs.

"I can hardly see a thing!" Margaret exclaimed as she stumbled through the tunnels. Even the light given off by the lantern seemed to be swallowed by the darkness. "Are you sure this is the fastest way?"

"You must trust me," Madame Giry said urgently. "This is the fastest route I know."

Margaret just prayed that it would be fast enough. What if they were too late?

XxXxX

"Of all the incompetence!" Raoul raged. "How did he get in? How could you let him slip by?"

The chief of police tried to pacify the Vicomte. "We just got word from the jail that LaForte took out a guard and stole his key and uniform. We apologize, Monsieur le Vicomte. We could not have foreseen this unfortunate turn of events."

"If anything happens to my sister, I swear to God on High I'll have all of your badges!" Raoul snarled.

Pandemonium had broken out amongst the spectators and the police had their hands full trying to keep the patrons calm and prevent a stampede. Raoul looked around helplessly as the police evacuated the audience from the building. This was taking too long! They were losing precious time!

"We need to get down there," Raoul whispered. "God knows what could happen in those catacombs!"

XxXxX

Erik's vision was beginning to go blurry. He tried desperately to focus on the face of the man in front of him. That face… It was familiar to him too… It was a face he had seen frequently in his youth…

"You," Erik said slowly. "Who… are you?

"Don't remember me, Destler?" LaForte said mockingly, his voice filled with bitterness. "I'm hurt." He took another swing at Erik, successfully landing a blow across the former Phantom's jaw. Erik staggered back, nearly losing his balance. When LaForte attacked again, Erik kicked him in the stomach, knocking him to the ground.

Erik groaned in pain as he gripped his wound, feeling blood steadily leaking out between his fingers. He couldn't fight much longer… not bare-handed… not like this… His only hope was to get back to the lair. He had a chance back there. Seizing the moment, he quickly turned and started limping through the caverns as quickly as he could while LaForte stumbled to his feet.

"You can't run from me, Destler!" LaForte growled. "I can hear your footfalls! I'll follow you to the edge of Hell, you bastard!"

Erik gritted his teeth in pain. Normally his feet made no din when he glided through the opera house, but the pain of his injury made his gait heavy and uneven. Furthermore, his footsteps were amplified by the walls of the cavern. Every step closer to safety was like a beacon calling out to his enemy. But his only hope was to keep pushing forward as fast as he could.

"It was an accident, you know," Erik heard LaForte's voice behind him in the caverns. "I didn't mean for it to happen."

"_What does he mean?_" Erik wondered, trying to shake the fog from his head. "_What… accident?_"

"But you know something?" LaForte continued. "When I heard you were dead, I was glad! I was glad that you were finally gone! And God as my witness, this time I'll make sure you _stay_ dead!"

Erik struggled forward. There was a way back to the lair around the lake. He wasn't strong enough to man the boat in his condition. His only option was to take the long way around. But he knew he was running out of time…

XxXxX

"Here it is!" Madame Giry said as they approached the boat. "Now we just follow the cavern to the lair!"

"It's still here!" Margaret exclaimed. "That must mean they haven't gotten here yet!"

Then she heard a soft groan echo across the lake. She looked up and was shocked the see Erik on the other side of the lake, moving slowly along the stone ledge towards the place that had been his home for the last four years. Margaret could see that he was clutching his side. Could it be that his injury still hadn't healed?

"Erik!" she cried out to him.

Erik heard her voice and turned to see her on the other side of the lake. His hand flew up reflexively to cover the distorted side of his face.

"Run away, Margaret!" he called to her. "Leave this place!"

"I'm not leaving you, Erik!" she called back.

"Get away now! It's not safe for you here!"

LaForte suddenly appeared behind Erik and struck him in the back of the head, sending him crashing to the ground. Margaret cried out in horror.

"Hurry, into the boat!" Madame Giry urged her. "They're almost at the lair!" Margaret scrambled to do as the ballet mistress instructed.

Erik struggled to his feet and tried to back away from his opponent. LaForte punched Erik hard in the face, sending him falling backwards again. Then LaForte noticed the red stain spreading across Erik's abdomen.

"Well, look at this," LaForte sneered. "It's the present I left you in our last tussle." He viciously brought the heel of his shoe down on Erik's wound, making him scream in pain and making his blood splatter.

"Hurry!" Margaret screamed as Madame Giry struggled to use the pole to manoeuvre the boat across the lake.

Erik kicked upwards with his long legs, catching LaForte in the stomach. As his enemy fell to the ground clutching his gut, Erik stumbled into the lake and pulled the lever that raised the gate to his lair. Margaret lost sight of him as he disappeared inside.

"He's alright," Margaret whispered. "We can get to him."

"Pray to God that we get to him first," Madame Giry said as she pushed the boat forward with all her might.

XxXxX

"Bring every man and arm you have!" Raoul yelled over his shoulder as he stripped off his jacket and grabbed a pistol. "We've wasted enough time here!"

"Monsieur le Vicomte, I really must protest!" the chief of police said. "This is a matter for the police. You should stay here with your wife!"

"Tell me something, good sir," Raoul said. "Do any of you know the way to his lair? Because that's exactly where they're headed, and I remember the way clearly!"

Christine touched Raoul's arm. "Please be careful," she whispered. "I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."

"I'll be fine," Raoul assured her. "Margaret will be fine too, I promise."

"And what about him?" Christine asked.

Raoul sucked in a deep breath. "Yes… I'll see to it that Destler pulls through this as well…" He turned away from her. "Follow me!" he shouted to the gendarmes. "Now! Hurry!"

As Raoul took off running towards the catacombs, his mind considered what he might find upon his arrival. "_Destler,_" he thought. "_Somehow you survived that fire… You survived the attack of an angry mob… You even survived the bullet of a madman… You had better survive this as well, or I fear my sister will die from the grief of losing you twice… Don't you dare die…_"

XxXxX

Erik stumbled to his desk and feverishly tore open the drawer, his hand desperately searching for something inside.

"_Where is it? Where is it?_" he thought desperately.

"End of the line, Destler!"

Erik's legs gave out and he slumped to the floor, turning to face LaForte as he did so. He remained propped up by the leg of his desk, his hand still buried in the drawer. LaForte was sneering at him.

"So, this is where you've chosen to make your grave?" he said, looking around. "I'm impressed, Destler. You've done well for yourself. It's much more lavish than that tawdry cottage you used to call a home." LaForte smirked. "Your corpse will rot in this gilded prison cell for eternity."

"You were there that night, weren't you?" Erik whispered. "The night I got this." He gestured at his scarred face.

"You still don't recall it?" LaForte asked. "You don't remember how you betrayed me?"

"Betrayed you?" Erik repeated. "I… I would never…"

"Oh, but you did!" LaForte insisted, his expression becoming angrier. "You betrayed me, the man who'd been your friend since childhood!"

"We… we were friends?"

"Oh, now I am hurt," LaForte said sarcastically. "But I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You made it perfectly clear where your loyalties stood a long time ago."

"I… I don't understand…"

"Remember, Destler?" LaForte asked. "Remember! I want you to remember your crimes before I kill you!"

"I… can't…"

"Remember the Populaire? Your music? Your opera? Remember it all!"

XxXxX

_Four years earlier…_

_Erik locked his opera in his strong box and ran his fingers through his hair. Margaret would be home soon. He couldn't wait to tell her about his fortune with the Opera Populaire. He had just signed the paperwork with Monsieur LeFevre earlier that morning. Finally, he'd be able to give her the life she deserved._

_There was a knock at his door. Erik smiled as he walked over to the door and opened it. "Back already, my love?"_

_But it was not Margaret who stood on his front step…_

"_Dominique?" Erik said when he saw the man standing alone with a lantern in his hand, glaring darkly at him. "Dominique, what is it?"_

"_You know what it is!" LaForte snarled as he pushed his way into Erik's house. "Well, go on then! Gloat!"_

_Erik smelled the pungent scent of alcohol on the other man's breath. "Dominique, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about… Have you gone mad?"_

"_The Populaire!"_

"_Oh," Erik said softly. "I see you've heard about that already…"_

"_Everyone at the opera house is talking about it!" LaForte growled. "You're going to be writing for the theatre!"_

"_And I take it you're not here to congratulate me?"_

"_Do you know what this means?" LaForte demanded. "With you writing for the theatre, none of my operas will ever sell!"_

"_What makes you think that?" Erik demanded. "There are dozens of composers who sell to the Opera Populaire. You'll get your chance…"_

"_Don't patronize me," LaForte sneered. "We both know you're the better composer of the two of us… They'll never buy my work as long as you keep handing them golden eggs!"_

"_I don't understand why you're so upset," Erik said incredulously. "We've known each other since we were boys… We studied music together… We both talked about writing for the Populaire someday… __**together**__!"_

"_We're not children anymore, Destler!" LaForte shouted. "Once you become a success, you'll forget all about me!"_

"_I didn't think this was a competition!" Erik shouted back, becoming angry now. "I thought you'd be happy for me, Dominique! I'm getting married! Finally, I'll be able to provide for my wife and the family we'll have together!"_

"_Ah, yes… The noble girl you charmed… Did __**her**__ family have anything to do with you getting this deal?"_

"_Don't you dare accuse me of that!" Erik snarled. "You know that I am not that kind of man! I wanted you to meet Margaret tonight, but perhaps we should wait until another time… when you haven't been drinking…"_

"_Don't you take that righteous tone with me," LaForte growled. "Don't you behave all noble… Not when you've betrayed me!"_

"_I haven't betrayed you, Dominique!" Erik shouted. "You're acting like a crazed fool!"_

"_You've ruined my life!" LaForte screamed._

_LaForte lost himself in his rage and viciously swung his lantern at Erik's face. The heated glass made contact with his right cheek and shattered, burning his flesh and embedding glass shards deep into his skin._

_Erik screamed in pain and crumpled to the floor. He had never experienced such pain before… Pain that both pierced and burned… He held a hand to his face and felt blood leak out between his fingers._

"_Dominique…" Erik rasped from his spot on the floor. He looked up to see his friend staring down at him in shock, unable to believe what he had just done._

_Erik smelled smoke and turned to see its source… The broken lantern had landed near his couch and ignited it. The fire was spreading quickly, destroying his home. If he and LaForte did not leave now, they would soon be trapped._

"_Dominique," Erik managed, trying to push back the pain. He looked up to meet his friend's eyes again. "H-help me…"_

_LaForte did not remove his eyes from Erik as he slowly backed away, towards the door, leaving Erik where he lay._

"_Dominique!" Erik choked out. "Don't… l-leave me… Please!"_

_LaForte bolted out the door and shut it behind him. Erik tried to drag himself across the floor, ignoring the pain that shot from his face all the way through his body. But he was too weak, and soon the flames blocked his only exit. He was trapped…_

"_Dominique… you… you left me…"_

XxXxX

"…for dead."

LaForte smirked. "That's right. I felt bad about it for a little while. But now I have no regrets."

Erik said nothing for a few moments. Then the scar-faced man started chuckling.

"What could you possibly find amusing about this?" LaForte demanded, irritated by the other man's lack of seriousness.

"You," Erik replied, still snickering. "I find you amusing… Pathetic, really…"

"What's that?" LaForte demanded, his temper flaring.

"I used to think that you were some kind of monster, but now I see that you're nothing more than a sad, feeble little man… A mediocre composer at best… You were jealous of me. You were jealous of my talent. You were jealous of my success." Erik smirked. "But I think what really drove you crazy was that a beautiful woman from the high society was in love with me."

"You were born in the gutter, Destler!" LaForte hissed. "I at least came from a family with money! If either of us deserved a noble woman for a bride, it was me!"

Erik sneered. "Why would any woman love a pathetic little worm like you? Face it, LaForte… you're nothing but a waste of space…"

LaForte snarled. "Enough!" He charged at the injured man.

Erik suddenly reached out and grabbed LaForte by the collar of his shirt, yanking him close. LaForte's eyes widened when he felt something sharp against his belly. Erik had pulled a dagger from the drawer of his desk and had it pushed against LaForte's abdomen while a firm grip on his shirt kept him from pulling away.

"Because of you, I lost four years with the woman I _really_ loved," Erik hissed. "Then you had the audacity to try and take her for your own. I will feel no guilt in ending your offensive existence, old friend!"

LaForte trembled in fear. "E-Erik… please…"

"I kill one last time… for love…" Erik drew back his dagger and prepared to plunge it into his enemy's heart.

"Erik, don't!"

Erik stopped and stared past LaForte. Margaret was standing near the entrance of his lair. Her skirt billowed around her in the knee-deep water. She was looking at him pleadingly.

"Margaret," he whispered, turning the misshapen side of his face away from her, too ashamed to let her see him. "I told you to leave. Why didn't you leave?"

"Please don't do this, Erik," she whispered. "You're not a killer."

"Margaret," Erik said. "This man…"

"Yes, I know," she said. "I heard everything. I know what he did. But let the courts deal with him. Please, don't stoop to his level!"

Erik felt a lump form in his throat. "If it weren't for him, we'd be married by now," he said, his voice breaking. "You and I would have had a family. I wouldn't have to hide my face from the world… from you… He destroyed my life! He must be punished… Just let me do this… This one last time…"

"You can't!" Margaret cried. "You're not that kind of man! I can forgive the other killings… you didn't know who you were… But my Erik would never hurt anyone…"

Erik didn't move, keeping a firm grip on the trembling coward in front of him. The dagger shook in his hand.

"If you kill him now, then it means that Erik died in that fire after all," Margaret said softly. "It means that LaForte won, no matter what… It means that… the Phantom is all that's left of you now…"

Erik shut his eyes, truly struggling with himself. He wanted to take his revenge so badly, and not so long ago he could have done so with little effort. But his old moral compass had re-emerged, impeding the cold, calloused side of him that once delivered judgement without hesitation.

"Erik, please!" Margaret begged. "I know it seems like justice… but it's not right… Be strong!" Her soft blue eyes pleaded with him. "I love you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Erik hesitated a few agonizing moments longer. Suddenly, the wounded man pushed himself to his feet, still keeping a firm grip on LaForte's collar. Then, without warning, he shoved the disgraced composer to the floor.

"Get out," he hissed at the coward, before tossing the knife into the lake. Erik was twice LaForte's size, but he was ten times the man.

Margaret smiled, unshed tears shining in her eyes. "Erik," she whispered lovingly.

Erik placed his hand over the burned side of his face before he turned to approach her. Margaret smiled softly. In time, she would make him understand that his appearance didn't matter to her. It was his kind heart that she loved. Soon, she knew that he would no longer be afraid to let her see his face… She would teach him that he didn't have to be ashamed anymore…

He reached out to her with his free hand. "Margaret…"

Margaret moved forward, reaching out to him.

Erik suddenly felt a rope tighten around his neck. LaForte, ever the opportunist, had grabbed one of the many nooses that could be found in the Phantom's lair and flung it over Erik's head while his back was to him. Erik had just enough time to get his hand into the loop before LaForte could cut off his airways. Still, the tightened rope constricted his breathing, and the already-weakened man fell to his knees as his enemy kept the rope pulled tight.

"Erik, no!" Margaret shrieked.

"You… you coward," Erik wheezed out, instantly regretting not killing LaForte when he had the chance.

"Sometimes it's the cowards who live in the end," LaForte sneered, tugging the rope tighter.

"No, please!" Margaret cried. "Don't kill him! I beg you! Just let him go!"

"Ah, there we are," LaForte said with a smirk. "You seem in a much more negotiable mood now. Perhaps we can finally reach an agreement that we'll all be happy with."

Margaret's stomach clenched at the tone of his voice.

Meanwhile, Madame Giry was still in the boat just outside the lair. She was certain LaForte hadn't seen her yet. Having heard everything that transpired inside the lair, she knew that they were in trouble.

"I must get help," the ballet mistress murmured as she manoeuvred the boat back towards the shore.

"Oh, the irony of it all," LaForte said with a laugh. "It would make a most wonderful opera! The notorious Phantom, caught in his own noose, as the woman he loves is offered the same ultimatum that he himself gave the object of his obsession a year earlier!"

Margaret's eyes widened. "No… No, surely you wouldn't!"

LaForte grinned at her. "Oh, but I would!" He tugged hard on the end of the rope, making Erik gag. "So what do you say, Margaret? Will you come with me willingly and be my bride? Or does your fiancé Erik Destler die a second time?"


End file.
